THE  BROWN  BRETHREN 

PATRICK     MACGILL 


I  THE  BROWN 
BRETHREN 


BY 
PATRICK 
MacGILL 


author  of  the  red  horizon, 
"the  great  push,"  etc. 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1917, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


•"'  ••  ^  ^  ,4 1'  r 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO  MY  FRIEND 

J.  N.  D. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/brownbrethrenOOmacgrich 


CONTENTS 

€HAPTER  PAGE 

I.  At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue ii 

II.  The  Lone  Road 27 

III.  In  Love 46 

IV.  To  THE  Trenches 61 

V.  Marching 74 

VI.   Christmas  Eve 83 

VII.   Christmas  Day 93 

VIII.   Back  to  His  Own 107 

IX.  Trench  Fever 120 

X.  Lost  TO  the  Wide 131 

XL   A  Scrap .148 

XII.   The  Day's  Work 157 

XIIL   The  Trenches 167 

XIV.   The  Sniper 182 

XV.  Taters  and  Vaseline 196 

XVE.   The  Rooky 209 

XVEL  Young  Blood 222 

XVIII.   Bathing 241 

XIX.   The  Somme 253 

XX.  Back  from  Battle 271 

XXI.   Resting 280 

XXII.  The  Married  Man 288 

7 


THE  BROWN  BRETHREN 


THE 
BROWN  BRETHREN 

CHAPTER  I 

AT  THE  CAFE  BELLE  VUE 

Strict  on  parade !    When  I'm  on  it  I'm  ready 
To  shove  blokes  about  if  they  do  not  keep  steady ! 
Comin'  the  acid !     Stow  it  there !  or  it 
Won't  do  with  me  and  then  you'll  be  for  it  I 
Swingin'  the  lead !    Them,  the  dowsiest  rankers 
That  ne'er  'ad  C.B.  or  a  dose  of  the  jankers, 
Swing  it  on  Snoggers  !    I'd  like  them  to  do  it 
And  good  God  Awmighty  then,  I'll  put  them  froo  it! 

Off  it,  I'm  off.    Then  I'll  brush  up  my  putties, 
Try  and  look  posh  and  get  off  wiv  my  butties, 
A  drink  at  the  Cafe,  a  joke  wiv  the  wenches. 
Last  joke  per'aps,  for  we're  due  for  the  trenches. 
Then  stick  to  wiv  pride  as  our  mateys  have  stuck  it 
When  kissin'  the  wenches  or  kickin'  the  bucket. 

(From  ''A  Service  Song") 

THE  night  had  fallen  and  the  Cafe  Belle 
Vue  was  crowded  with  soldiers  in  khaki. 
The  day's  work  was  at  an  end,  and  the 
men  had  left  their  billets  to  come  out  and  spend 

a  few  hours  in  the  wine-shop  of  Jean  Lacroix.    A 

II 


12  '^      -^"Hicr  3rown  Brethren 

whole  division  was*  quartered  in  the  district;  it 
had  come  back  from  the  firing-line  and  was  en- 
joying a  brief  period  of  rest  prior  to  its  depar- 
ture for  the  trenches  again. 

Even  here,  back  near  the  town  of  Cassel,  the 
men  were  not  free  from  the  sights  and  sounds  of 
the  fighting.  At  night  they  could  see  the  red 
agony  of  war  painting  the  distant  horizon,  and 
hear  the  far-off  rumbling  of  the  big  guns  as  the 
thunder  and  tumult  of  the  conflict  smote  across 
the  world.  The  men  back  from  the  line  of 
slaughter  tried  not  to  think  too  clearly  of  what 
was  happening  out  there.  In  the  Cafe  Belle 
Vue,  where  the  wine  was  good,  men  could  for- 
get things. 

The  Cafe  was  crowded.  Half-a-dozen  soldiers 
stood  at  the  bar  and  the  patronne  served  out 
drinks  with  a  speedy  hand.  Behind  her  was  a 
number  of  shelves  on  which  stood  bottles  of  vari- 
ous sizes.  Over  the  shelves  were  two  photo- 
graphs; one  was  her  own,  the  other  was  that  of 
her  husband  when  he  was  a  thinner  man  and  a 
soldier  in  the  army.  In  the  house  there  was  one 
child,  a  dirty,  ragged  little  girl,  who  sat  in  a 
corner  and  fixed  a  dull  meaningless  stare  on  the 
soldiers  as  they  entered  the  cafe. 

Jean  Lacroix  sat  beside  the  long-necked  stove 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  13 

stroking  his  beard,  a  neat  white  little  beard  which 
stood  perkily  out  from  his  fat  chin.  Jean  La- 
croix  was  fat,  a  jelly  blob  of  a  man  with  flesh 
hanging  from  his  sides,  from  his  cheeks  and 
from  his  hands.  He  was  a  heap  of  blubber 
wrapped  in  cloth.  When  he  changed  his  locality 
he  shuffled  instead  of  walking,  when  he  laughed 
he  shivered  and  shook  his  fat  as  if  he  wanted  to 
fling  it  off.  He  was  seldom  serious,  when  he 
was,  all  those  near  him  laughed.  A  serious  Jean 
was  a  ridiculous  figure. 

His  wife  was  an  aggressive  female  with  a  dark 
moustache,  the  tongue  of  a  shrew  and  the  eye  of 
a  money-lender.  She  worked  like  an  ant  and 
seldom  spoke  to  her  husband.  Jean,  wise  with 
the  wisdom  of  a  well-fed  man,  rarely  said  a  word 
to  her;  he  sat  by  the  fire  all  day  and  spoke  to 
anyone  else  who  cared  to  listen. 

A  sergeant  and  three  men  entered  and  going 
up  to  the  bar  called  for  drinks.    These  soldiers 

were  billeted  at  Y Farm  which  stood  some 

three  kilometres  away  from  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue. 
They  belonged  to  the  London  Irish  Regiment. 
The  battalion  had  just  come  down  from  HuUuch 
for  a  rest.  Having  procured  their  drinks  the 
four  men  sat  down,  lit  their  cigarettes  and  en- 
tered into  a  noisy  conversation. 


14  The  Brown  Brethren 

Before  going  any  further  it  will  be  well  to  say 
a  few  words  about  these  men,  the  principal  per- 
sonages of  my  story. 

The  sergeant's  name  was  Snogger.  He  was 
a  well-built  man,  straight  as  a  ramrod  and  supple 
as  an  eel.  He  was  very  strict  on  parade,  a  model 
soldier,  a  terror  to  recruits  and  a  rank  discipli- 
narian. 'When  you're  on  parade  you're  on  pa- 
rade," was  his  pet  saying.  He  had  a  tendency 
to  use  the  letter  *'w"  a  little  too  often  when 
speaking.  Once  he  said  admonishing  a  dilatory 
squad:  "You  blokes  in  the  wear  wank  must 
wipe  your  wifles  wiv  woily  wags  in  future!" 

Sergeant  Snogger  was  a  handsome  man,  proud 
as  Lucifer  and  very  careful  about  his  person. 
His  moustache  was  always  waxed,  his  finger  nails 
were  always  clean,  and  whenever  possible  he 
slept  with  his  trousers  placed  under  his  bed  and 
neatly  folded.  Thus  a  most  artistic  crease  was 
obtained. 

Snogger  had  peculiar  ears.  Their  tops  pressed 
very  closely  into  the  head  and  the  lobes  stood 
out.  Looking  at  the  ears  from  the  side  they  had 
an  appearance  similar  to  that  of  a  shovel 
stretched  out  to  catch  something;  seen  from  be- 
hind they  looked  as  if  crouching  against  a  para- 
pet waiting  for  an  oncoming  shell. 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  15 

The  men  liked  Snogger  and  the  sergeant  pre- 
ferred the  company  of  riflemen  to  that  of  his 
brother  N.C.O/s. 

Bowdy  Benners  was  a  different  type  of  man. 
A  young  fellow  of  twenty-four,  slightly  over 
medium  height,  but  thick-set  and  sturdy.  He 
had  remarkably  long  arms,  heavy  buttocks  and 
broad  shoulders.  The  latter  he  swung  vigorous- 
ly when  marching.  This  motion  imparted  a  cer- 
tain defiant  swagger  to  the  man  which  his  placid 
nature  utterly  belied.  He  was  of  a  kindly  dis- 
position, extremely  good-humoured,  but  very 
self-conscious  and  blushed  red  as  a  poppy  when 
spoken  to.  There  was  something  very  amiable 
and  kind  in  his  face;  something  good  and  com- 
forting in  his  sleepy  eyes,  his  rather  thick  lips 
and  full  cheeks.  His  ears  perhaps  were  out  of 
keeping  with  the  repose  which  found  expression 
on  the  rest  of  his  features.  They  stood  out  from 
his  head  alert  and  ready,  as  it  seemed,  to  jump 
from  their  perch  on  to  the  ground. 

Bowdy  could  drink  like  a  fish,  but  French  beer 
never  made  him  drunk  and  champagne  merely 
made  him  merry.  When  merry  he  swore  and  his 
companions  laughed  at  this  unaccustomed  vio- 
lence. 

*'Devil  blow  me  blind,"  he  would  say,  stretch- 


i6  The  Brown  Brethren 

ing  his  long  arm  across  the  table  at  which  he 
might  be  sitting  and  bringing  down  his  massive 
fist  with  a  thundering  bang.  ''Devil  blow  me 
stone  blind  for  a  fool!''  And  all  the  soldiers 
around  would  laugh  and  wink  at  one  another,  as 
much  as  to  say :  "Is  he  not  a  big  silly  fool ;  not 
half  as  clever  as  we  are/' 

Bowdy  was  not  indeed  particularly  clever;  he 
lacked  excessive  sharpness  of  wit.  But  his 
mates  loved  him,  for  his  spirit  of  comradeship 
was  very  genuine  and  he  had  a  generous  sympa- 
thy for  all  things  good  and  noble.  Often  when 
the  boys'  tongues  were  loosened  in  a  French 
tavern  one  of  them  might  be  heard  saying:  ''Old 
Bowdy's  a  damned  good  sort.  I'd  follow  him 
anywhere,  even  to  hell." 

Then  the  others  would  answer:  "None  like 
old  Bowdy.    One  of  the  best  he  is.    And  a  good 


man." 


Bowdy  was  indeed  a  good  man ;  a  great  fighter. 
In  raids,  in  bayonet  charges  and  bombing  en- 
counters he  was  a  force  to  be  reckoned  with  and 
never  had  an  adversary  been  known  to  get  the 
better  of  him.  Persistence,  staying  power  and 
dogged  courage  were  his  great  assets,  and  these 
when  taken  in  conjunction  with  his  good  humour 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  17 

and  simple  nature  made  him  a  loved  comrade 
and  worthy  friend. 

Bowdy  was  now  seated  at  the  inn  table,  drink- 
ing beer  with  his  mate,  an  alert  youth  with  a  snub 
nose  and  bright  vivacious  eyes.  His  name  was 
Spudhole. 

Spudhole  was  a  Londoner,  a  native  of  Wal- 
worth. His  real  name  was  Thomas  Bubb,  but 
his  mates  nicknamed  him  Spudhole,  a  slang 
term  for  the  guard-room.  The  nickname  became 
him,  he  liked  it  and  was  not  a  little  proud  of  the 
fact  that  no  man  in  the  regiment  spent  as  many 
days  in  the  guard-room  as  did  Rifleman  Thomas 
Bubb.  He  was  eternally  guilty  of  trivial  offences 
against  Army  regulations.  This  was  in  a  great 
measure  due  to  his  inability  to  accommodate 
himself  to  a  changed  environment.  He  was  a 
coster  unchangeable  and  unchanged;  to  him  an 
officer  was  always  *'Gu\'nor,"  he  addressed  an 
officer  as  such,  and  the  Colonel  was  the  ''ole 
bloke.''  His  tongue  was  seldom  quiet  and  the 
cries  of  his  trade  were  ever  on  his  tongue,  even 
on  parade  he  often  gave  them  expression.  He 
sang  well,  drank  well,  fought  well,  and  loved 
practical  jokes. 

Oiice  at  St.  Albans  he  dressed  himself  up  as 
a  corporal,  took  two  of  his  mates  to  the  railway 


i8  The  Brown  Brethren 

station  and  relieved  the  military  police  on  duty 
there.  Mistaking  him  for  a  real  N.C.O.  they 
left  the  station  in  his  hands.  Of  course  he  took 
the  first  train  to  London.  On  his  return  he  was 
awarded  fourteen  days'  spud-hole. 

When  in  the  guard-room  he  decided  to  escape 
and  at  the  hour  of  twelve  on  the  first  night  when 
a  sentry  stood  on  watch  outside  his  prison  Spud- 
hole  broke  the  window  with  a  resounding  thump. 
Then  he  rushed  back  and  stood  behind  the  door. 
He  was  in  stocking-soles,  his  boots  were  slung 
round  his  shoulders  by  the  laces.  On  hearing 
the  crash  the  sentry  opened  the  door,  sprang  into 
the  room  and  hurried  to  the  window  thinking 
that  Spudhole  was  trying  to  escape  by  that  quar- 
ter— and  Spudhole  went  out  by  the  door. 

He  was  very  good-natured,  in  fact  quixotic. 
Once  a  recruit  belonging  to  Bubb's  section  was 
so  very  slack  that  the  officer  brought  him  out  in 
front  of  the  squad  and  got  him  to  perform  sev- 
eral movements  in  musketry  drill.  The  remain- 
der of  the  party  had  to  shout  out  when  the  man 
made  any  mistakes.  As  is  usual,  the  onlookers 
saw  many  faults  and  shouted  themselves  hoarse. 
But  Bubb  was  silent.  When  the  slack  recruit 
returned  to  his  place  in  the  ranks  the  officer  spoke 
to  Spudhole. 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  19 

"Did  you  notice  any  of  those  mistakes?"  he 
asked. 

''Yes,  sir/'  Bubb  replied. 

''And  why  did  you  not  say  so?''  enquired  the 
officer. 

"Well,  I  didn't  want  to  give  the  bloke  away," 
was  Bubb's  answer. 

The  youngster  had  spent  four  years  in  a  re- 
formatory; afterwards  as  a  coster  he  presided 
over  a  barrow  in  a  turning  off  Walworth  Road. 
His  pitch  was  one  of  the  best  in  the  locality.  He 
fell  in  love  with  a  girl  who  kept  a  barrow  be- 
side him.  He  often  spoke  of  her  to  Bowdy 
Benners. 

"She's  not  'arf  a  bird,"  he  would  say.  "No- 
body can  take  a  mike  out  'er.  I'm  goin'  to  get 
spliced  after  the  war  too." 

Near  the  stove  sat  the  remaining  soldier,  an 
Irishman  named  Fitzgerald.  He  was  a  thin 
graceful  fellow  of  about  five-and-twenty,  and 
could  not,  to  judge  by  his  appearance,  boast  of 
very  good  health.  His  lips  full  and  red,  his 
straight  nose,  delicate  nostrils,  black  liquid  eyes 
and  long  lashes  betrayed  a  passionate  and  sensi- 
tive nature.  He  was  a  thoughtful  man,  grave 
and  dutiful,  but  at  times  as  petulant  and  per- 


20  The  Brown  Brethren 

verse  as  a  child.  Even  when  most  perverse  he 
was  good  company. 

He  was  exceedingly  superstitious.  His 
thoughts  generally  wandered  with  startling  sud- 
denness from  one  subject  to  another  but  this  was 
probably  due  to  the  use  of  strong  drink.  He  had 
had  a  college  education  but  took  to  drink  early 
and  squandered  all  his  resources.  Then  he  be- 
came a  rover  and  wandered  through  many  parts 
of  the  world  as  sailor,  tramp  and  outcast.  He 
had  slept  in  doss-houses,  on  the  pavements,  in 
the  fields.  Once  indeed  he  was  a  trombone 
player  in  the  Salvation  Army,  and  again  he 
fought  in  a  Mexican  rebellion.  Then  he  be- 
longed to  a  regiment,  the  soldiers  of  which  had 
to  wear  great  coats  on  their  triumphal  march 
through  a  certain  town  because  of  the  bad  con- 
dition of  their  trousers.  Fitz  knew  a  smattering 
of  most  languages  but  vowed  that  he  was  onh 
proficient  in  one — bad  language. 

At  present  he  was  in  a  gay  good  humour  and 
as  he  spoke  to  young  Benners  his  voice,  loud 
enough  but  very  soft  and  pleasant,  penetrated 
to  the  very  corners  of  the  inn. 

"Do  you  ever  feel  afraid,  Bowdy?"  he  asked. 
"Funky,  you  know."  Then,  without  waiting  for 
an  answer,  he  went  on :    "God !  I  do  feel  afraid, 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  21 

sometimes.  Out  on  listening  patrol.  It's  hell 
for  a  man  with  imagination.  Crawling  out  in 
the  darkness  between  the  lines.  You  hear  the 
grass  whispering,  and  the  darkness  ahead  of  you 
may  hide  anything.  An  awful  face  covered  with 
blood  may  rise  up  in  front,  a  hand  may  come  out 
and  grasp  you  by  the  hair.  The  dead  are  lying 
around  you,  poor  quiet  creatures,  but  you  know 
that  they're  stronger  than  you  are.  I  often  wish 
I  couldn't  think,  that  I  lacked  imagination,  that 
I  was  a  clod  of  earth,  just  something  like  that 
plebeian  there."  Fitzgerald  raised  his  finger  and 
pointed  to  Bubb  who  was  rapping  his  idle  fingers 
on  the  legs  of  his  chair.  Bubb  gazed  at  Fitz- 
gerald and  laughed. 

''Fleebian,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  know  wot  that 
IS.    We  'ad  one  but  the  wheel  came  off." 

*'No  imagination  there,"  said  Fitzgerald  with 
an  air  of  finality.  ''He  couldn't  be  afraid,  that 
creature.  No  soul.  I  dare  ten  thousand  times 
as  much  to  overcome  my  fear  as  that  man  would 
dare  to  win  the  V.C.  When  I  go  out  on  listening 
patrol  I  am  always  furthest  out.  I  feel  if  I'm 
a  yard  behind  the  front  man  he'll  consider  me  a 
coward,  so  I  get  out  a  yard  ahead  of  him  and 
I  tremble  all  the  time. 

"God!  I  had  a  bad  dream  last  night,"  Fitz- 


22  The  Brown  Brethren 

gerald  remarked  swinging  from  one  topic  to  an- 
other. "I  dreamt  I  saw  a  woman  dressed  in 
black  looking  into  an  empty  grave." 

"That's  a  bad  sign,"  said  the  sergeant. 
"You'll  be  damned  unlucky  the  next  time  yer 
go  up  to  the  trenches.  Ye'll  never  come  back. 
Ye'll  get  done  in." 

"Oh,  ril  come  back  safe  and  sound,"  Fitz- 
gerald replied  in  all  seriousness.  "The  dream 
was  a  bad  one  and  portended  some  evil." 

"And  is  it  not  bad  enough  to  get  done  in?" 
asked  Benners. 

"There  are  things  worse  than  death,"  was 
Fitzgerald's  answer.  "Death  is  not  the  supreme 
evil.  But  women!  It's  not  good  to  dream  of 
them  especially  if  they're  red-haired.  Did  you 
ever  dream  of  red-haired  women,  Bowdy?" 

Bowdy  laughed  but  did  not  speak.  Women 
apparently  did  not  attract  him  much  and  in  their 
company  he  was  shy  and  diffident.  Wanting  to 
get  away  as  quickly  as  possible  from  their  pres- 
ence he  would  rake  up  some  imaginary  appoint- 
ment from  the  back  of  his  head,  ask  to  be  excused 
and  disappear.  Behaviour  of  this  kind  though 
natural  to  Bowdy  Benners  was  quite  inexplicable 
to  his  mates.  Fitzgerald  having  had  a  drop  of 
wine  was  now  in  a  mood  to  discuss  womanhood. 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  23 

"You're  too  damned  modest,  Bowdy/'  he  said. 
"And  you  don't  shine  in  the  company  of  the 
fair,  dear  women.  You  know  the  natural  mis- 
sion of  woman  is  to  please  man,  and  man,  no  mat- 
ter what  he  feels,  should  try  and  look  pleased 
when  in  her  company.  If  he  looks  bored  what 
does  that  signify,  Bowdy  Benners?  Eh?  It 
means  that  he  has  found  her  ugly.  That's  an  in- 
sult to  the  sex,  to  feminine  charms  and  womanly 
qualities.  For  myself  I'd  much  sooner  sin  and 
please  a  woman  than  pose  as  a  saint  and  annoy 
her.  Women  don't  like  saints;  what  they  want 
most  in  life  is  Love. 

"Love!  Love  is  the  only  allurement  in  exist- 
ence," said  Fitzgerald  rising  to  his  feet.  "It  is 
the  essence  of  life.  Love,  free  and  unrestrained, 
not  tied  to  the  pillars  of  propriety  by  the  man- 
acles of  marriage.  (That's  a  damned  smart 
phrase,  isn't  it,  Spudhole?)  Love  is  sacred,  mar- 
riage is  not,  marriage  is  governed  by  laws,  love 
is  not.  Nature  has  given  us  love.  It  is  an  in- 
stinct and  we  shouldn't  fight  against  it  too  much. 
Why  should  we  fight  against  a  gift  from  God? 
Some  sacrilegious  fool  tried  to  improve  on  God's 
handiwork  and  made  laws  to  govern  love.  It's 
like  man  to  poke  his  nose  in  where  it's  not  wanted. 


24  The  Brown  Brethren 

He'd  give  the  Lord  soda  water  at  the  Last  Sup- 
per. 

Snoggers  laughed  boisterously,  Bubb  chuckled 
and  a  lazy  smile  spread  over  Bowdy's  face.  The 
gestures  of  the  excited  Irishman  amused  them. 
He  sat  down,  took  a  deep  breath,  then  went  on 
to  speak  in  a  calmer  voice. 

''Love  sweetens  life,"  he  said.  "It  is  like 
sugar  in  children's  physic.  Here,  Spudhole,  were 
you  ever  in  love?" 

"Blimey,  not  arf,"  Spudhole  answered  and 
winked.  "I'm  not  arf  a  beggar  wiv  the  birds. 
1  m  .  .  .  . 

"That  wench  down  at  the  farm,  that  girl  Fifi 
is  a  nice  snug  parcel  o'  love,"  Snoggers  inter- 
rupted, "I  'aven't  arf  got  my  'and  in  down  that 
quarter.    Wot  d'ye  fink  o'  'er,  Fitz?" 

"Who?"  asked  Fitzgerald.  He  had  become 
suddenly  alert. 

"  'Ear  'im,"  said  Bubb,  winking  at  the  Ser- 
geant. "Old  Fitz  ain't  arf  a  dodger;  one  o'  the 
nuts  that's  wot  'e  is." 

"Fifi,  the  girl  at  the  farm,"  said  Snogger  in 
answer  to  Fitzgerald's  question.  "Yer  don't  say 
much  when  you're  down  there  and  'er  in  the  room 
but  your  eyes  are  never  oflf  'er.  ...  I  wouldn't 
say  nothin'  against  rollin'  'er  in  the  straw  .... 


At  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue  25 

This  mornin'  ....  a  funny  thing  ....  she  came 
up  to  me  and  told  me  to  put  my  'and  in  'ers.  I 
obliged  'er.  Then  she  said  to  me:  'Two  sous 
for  your  thoughts.'  I  didn't  tell  'er  wot  I  was 
finkin'  of,  but  I  didn't  arf  fink." 

Snogger  laughed  loudly ;  Fitzgerald  was  silent. 

''Bet  yer,  yer  wos  finkin'  somefing  wot  wasn't 
good,  sarg,"  said  Bubb. 

"Aye;  and  old  Fitz  is  gwine  dotty  on  the 
wench,"  said  the  sergeant.  "I  see  it  in  his 
eyes." 

"Botheration,"  Fitzgerald  remarked.  "I  know 
the  girl  by  sight  and  I  know  she  makes  good  cafe- 
au-lait,  but  I  didn't  even  know  her  name  until 


now." 


"Sing  a  song,  Fitz,"  Bubb  called  out.  "A  good 
rousin'  song  wiv  'air  on't." 

"I  pay  no  heed  to  that  creation,  his  tap-room 
wit  and  yokel  humour,"  muttered  Fitzgerald, 
turning  to  Benners.    "But  if  you  desire  it  .  .  .  ." 

"Give  us  a  bit  o'  a  song,  Fitz,"  Benners  re- 
plied. 

"Give  me  a  cigarette  and  I'll  sing  you  a  song 
that  I  love  very  much,"  Fitzgerald  said.  "It  was 
sung  in  Ireland  by  the  old  women  in  the  famine 
times  when  they  were  dying  of  starvation.  You 
must  picture  the  famine-stricken  leaning  over 


26  The  Brown  Brethren 

their  turf  fires  and  singing  their  songs  of  desola- 
tion. (God!  I  think  it  was  the  turf-fires  that 
kept  the  race  alive.^" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  LONE  ROAD 

**I  want  to  go  'ome, 
I  want  to  go  'ome, 

I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  trenches  no  more, 
Where  the  bullets  and  shrapnel  do  whistle  and  roar, 
I  want  to  go  over  the  sea, 
Where  the  Alley  man  can't  get  at  me; 
Oh,  my! 

I  don't  want  to  die, 
I  want  to  go  'ome !" 

(A  Trench  Song,) 

A  STRANGE  glow  overspread  Fitzgerald's 
face  and  he  rose  from  his  seat  by  the 
stove  and  sat  down  again  on  a  bench  in 
a  corner  and  spread  out  his  hands  timorously 
towards  an  imaginary  fire.  He  bent  his  head 
forward  until  it  drooped  almost  to  his  knees  and 
his  whole  attitude  took  on  a  semblance  of  want 
and  woe  beset  with  an  overpowering  fear.  Ben- 
ners  gasped  involuntarily  as  he  waited  for  the 
song. 

A  long,  drawn  out,  hardly  audible  note  that 
wavered  like  a  thread  of  smoke  quivered  out  into 
the  evil  atmosphere  of  the  apartment,  it  was  fol- 

27 


28  The  Brown  Brethren 

lowed  by  a  second  and  a  third.  A  strange  effect 
was  produced  on  all  the  listeners  by  the  trem- 
bling voice  of  the  singer.  Bubb  gaped  stupidly, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  roof,  as  he  rubbed  his  chin 
with  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand.  The  ser- 
geant drew  himself  up  and  listened,  fascinated. 
Fitzgerald's  song  was  the  song  of  a  soul  con- 
demned to  inevitable  sorrow;  there  was  not  a 
relieving  touch,  not  a  glow  of  hope,  it  was  the 
song  of  a  damned  soul. 

"Oh,  the  praties  they  are  small 

Over  here. 
Oh,  the  praties  they  are  small 

Over  here. 
The  praties  they  are  small 
And  we  ate  them  skins  and  all. 
Aye,  and  long  afore  the  Fall, 

Over  here. 


No  help  in  hour  of  need 

Over  here. 
And  God  won't  pay  much  heed 

Over  here. 
Then  whisht !    Or  He'll  take  heed 
And  He'll  rot  the  pratie  seed 
And  send  other  mouths  to  feed 

Over  here. 


I  wish  I  was  a  duck 

Over  here. 
To  be  eating  clay  and  muck 

Over  here. 
I'd  sooner  .  .  .  sooner  ...  I'd  sooner 


The  Lone  Road  29 

"My  God,  I've  forgotten  it,  Benners,  forgotten 
the  rest  of  the  song/'  Fitzgerald  exclaimed, 
throwing  his  unlighted  cigarette  on  the  floor  and 
gripping  his  hair  with  both  hands  as  if  going  to 
pull  it  out  of  his  head.  Then;  as  if  thinking  bet- 
ter of  it,  he  brought  both  his  hands  to  his  sides 
and  sat  down  on  his  original  seat,  his  whole  face 
betokening  extreme  self-pity. 

''My  memory!"  he  exclaimed.  "My  memory! 
Why  was  I  brought  into  being?" 

A  minute's  silence  followed,  then  an  eager 
glow  lit  up  Fitzgerald's  face.  A  happy  inspira- 
tion seemed  to  have  seized  hold  of  him.  "Ben- 
ners!" he  exclaimed  in  an  eager  voice.  "Have 
you  a  cigarette  to  spare,  Benners?" 

"Gorblimey!"  laughed  Bubb.  "Listen  to  'im. 
'E's  always  on  the  'ear-'ole  for  fags,  an'  'e  throws 
arf  of  'em  away.    'E's  not  arf  a  nib,  ole  Fitz." 

"Good  Heavens,  how  can  I  endure  such  re- 
marks from  a  damned  Sassenach!  (I  beg  your 
pardon,  Bubb)"  Fitzgerald  exclaimed,  gripping 
with  both  fingers  the  cigarette  which  Benners 
had  given  him  and  breaking  it  in  two.  "You 
don't  understand  me,  Bubb,  you  can't.  I  don't 
bear  you  any  malice,  but,  heavens !  you  are  try- 
ing at  times  ....  By  the  way,"  he  added,  "can 
you  give  us  one  of  your  songs?" 


30  The  Brown  Brethren 

Bubb  looked  at  Fitzgerald  for  a  moment  then 
lit  a  cigarette  and  got  to  his  feet. 

'Wot  about  6le  Skiboo?"  he  asked,  address- 
ing the  remark  to  all  in  the  room. 

The  soldiers  knew  that  he  was  going  to  oblige 
and  applauded  with  their  hands. 

Bubb  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  patronne  and 
started : 

"Madame,  'ave  yer  any  good  wine  ? 

Skiboo!  Skiboo! 

Madame,  'ave  yer  any  good  wine? 

Skiboo ! 
Madame,  'ave  yer  any  good  wine 
Fit  for  a  rifleman  o*  the  line  ? 

Skiboo!  Skiboo!  Skiboolety  bill  skiboo! 

"Madame,  'ave  yer  a  daughter  fair  ? 

Skiboo!  Skiboo! 
Madame,  *ave  yer  a  daughter  fair  ? 

Skiboo ! 
Madame,  'ave  yer  a  daughter  fair? 
And  I  will  take  her  under  my  care, 

Skiboo!  Skiboo!  Skiboolety  bill  skiboo! 

"Madame,  I've  got  money  to  spend. 
Cinq  sous !  Cinq  sous ! 
Madame,  I've  got  money  to  spend, 

Cinq  sous ! 
Madame,  I've  got  money  to  spend, 
Seldom  the  case  with  your  daughter's  friend. 
Cinq  sous !  Cinq  sous,  cinq  slummicky  slop  !    Cinq 
sous !" 

The  song,  an  old  one  probably,  but  adapted 
to  suit  modern  circumstances,^  was  lustily  chor- 


The  Lone  Road  31 

used  by  the  soldiers  in  the  room.  Bubb  having 
finished  sat  down,  but  presently  rose  to  his  feet 
again. 

"  'Oo'l  whistle  the  chorus  of  *It's  a  long  way 
to  Tipperary'  ?"  he  asked.  ''Everybody  do  it  to- 
gether and  the  one  that  does  it  froo  Fll  stand 
'im  a  drink.  Nobody  to  laugh.  And  the  one 
that's  not  able  to  do  it  will  stand  me  a  drink.  Is 
that  a  bargain?    Nobody  to  laugh,  mind.'' 

The  men  agreed  to  Bubb's  terms  and  started 
whistling.  But  they  did  not  get  far.  They  had 
drunk  quite  a  lot  and  Bubb's  final  injunction 
tickled  them.  One  smiled,  then  another.  Bowdy 
Benners  lay  back  and  roared  with  laughter.  He 
tried  to  form  his  lips  round  a  note  but  the  eflfort 
was  futile.  It  was  impossible  to  laugh  and 
whistle  at  the  same  time.  Fitzgerald  was  making 
a  sound  that  reminded  the  listeners  of  an  angry 
cat  spitting.  His  cheeks  were  puflFed  out  and 
his  nose  was  sinking  out  of  sight.  The  landlord 
rolled  from  side  to  side  choking  almost,  even  the 
patronne  was  smiling.  The  little  ragged  girl 
came  across  the  floor  and  stood  in  front  of  Fitz, 
her  hands  behind  her  back.  For  a  moment  she 
stood  thus,  then  she  ran  away  giggling  and  hid 
behind  the  counter.    Fitzgerald  got  to  his  feet. 

"Bubb,  Spudhole  or  whatever  the  devil  they 


32  The  Brown  Brethren 

call  you,  you've  won,"  he  said.  "What  a  queer 
creature  that  child  is,  boys,''  he  muttered,  look- 
ing at  the  youngster  which  was  peeping  slyly  out 
from  behind  the  counter.  'Is  it  a  boy  or  a  girl  ?" 
Bubb  approached  the  counter  and  drank  the 
glass  of  vin  rouge  which  Benners  had  paid  for; 
then  he  thrust  his  hands  in  his  trouser  pockets 
and  began  to  sing  ''Sam  Hall." 

"My  name  is  Samuel  Hall, 

Tiddy  fol  lol,  tiddy  fol  lol !" 

"Bowdlerise  it,  you  fool,"  Fitzgerald  ex- 
claimed sitting  down  again.  "Bowdlerise  the 
song  or  stop  singing.  Bad  taste,  Bubb,  bad  taste. 
Drink  doesn't  improve  your  morals." 

Bubb  ceased  singing,  not  on  Fitzgerald's  be- 
hest, but  because  the  sergeant  was  standing  him 
a  drink.  Old  Jean  Lacroix  who  was  slowly  re- 
covering from  his  fit  of  laughter  turned  to  Fitz- 
gerald. 

"The  Bosche  broke  through  up  by  Souchez 
last  night,"  he  said,  pointing  a  fat  thumb  towards 
the  locality  of  the  firing  line.  "He  broke  through 
in  hundreds.  He  is  unable  to  get  back  now  and 
he  is  roving  all  over  the  country." 

"They  haven't  been  captured?"  said  Fitz- 
gerald. 


The  Lone  Road  33 

"Some  of  them,"  said  Jean.  ''Most  of  them 
perhaps,  but  not  all.  Last  night  they  were  about 
here." 

''Here?"  enquired  Fitzgerald.  "Did  you  see 
them?" 

"Have  I  seen  them?"  asked  Jean,  shivering 
with  laughter.  "They  can't  be  seen.  They  dis- 
guise themselves  as  turnips,  as  bushes,  as  Eng- 
lish soldiers Last  night  two  of  your  coun- 
trymen, soldiers,  left  here  at  nine  o'clock;  and 
got  killed." 

Jean  paused. 

"Where  were  they  killed?"  asked  Fitzgerald. 

"You  are  billeted  at  Y Farm,  are  you 

not?"  enquired  the  innkeeper.  "You  are.  Then 
you  came  along  the  road  to-night  coming  here. 
Did  you  see  a  ruined  cottage  on  your  right,  a 
little  distance  back  from  the  road?" 

"A  mile  from  here?"  said  Fitzgerald.  "Yes, 
we  saw  it." 

"That  is  where  it  happened,"  said  Jean  La- 
croix.  "The  two  soldiers  were  found  there  this 
morning  with  their  throats  cut,  lying  on  ithe 
floor." 

Fitzgerald  got  to  his  feet  and  entered  an  outer 
room.  There  he  found  a  copy  of  an  English 
magazine  lying  on  a  chair.    He  picked  it  up  and 


34  The  Brown  Brethren 

presently  was  deep  in  an  article  which  tried  to 
prove  that  war  would  be  a  thing  of  the  past  if 
Prussia  ceased  to  exist.  When  he  had  finished 
reading  he  came  back  to  the  man  by  the  stove 
and  found  him  sitting  there  all  alone,  his  eyes 
fixed  on  the  flames.  Benners  was  not  there,  he 
had  left,  accompanied  by  Spudhole  and  the  ser- 
geant. The  farm  in  which  their  company  was 
billeted  was  some  two  miles  oflf. 

Fitzgerald  looked  at  his  watch  and  saw  that  it 
was  nine  o'clock. 

"Nine  o'clock,"  he  said  aloud,  and  something 
familiar  in  the  words  struck  him.  Two  soldiers 
left  the  wine  shop  the  night  previous  at  nine 
o'clock  and  next  morning  they  were  discovered 
lying  in  a  ruined  cottage  with  their  throats  cut. 
None  of  the  men  now  in  the  inn  were  billeted  at 

Y Farm.    Fitzgerald  had  to  go  home  alone. 

He  swung  his  bandolier  over  his  shoulder,  lifted 
his  rifle  from  the  table  and  went  out  into  the 
night.  The  story  which  Jean  Lacroix  had  told 
afifected  Fitzgerald  strongly.  A  stranger  in  a 
new  locality  he  was  ready  to  give  credence  to 
any  tale. 

Fitzgerald  had  seen  very  little  of  trench  war- 
fare. True,  he  had  come  out  to  France  with  his 
regiment  in   March  of   191 5  but  then  he  got 


The  Lone  Road  35 

wounded  on  his  first  journey  to  the  trenches  and 
was  sent  back  to  England.  He  came  out  again 
in  time  to  take  part  in  the  battle  of  Loos  and  got 
gassed  in  the  charge.  Followed  a  few  weeks  in 
the  hospital  at  Versailles  and  then  he  was  sent 
back  to  the  trenches.  He  had  seen  a  fortnight's 
trench  warfare,  done  turns  in  listening  patrol  and 
sentry-go,  before  coming  back  with  his  battalion 

to  Y Farm  near  the  town  of  Cassel.     So 

now,  although  first  battalion  man,  he  was  in 
many  ways  a  "rooky,"  one  who  was  not  as  yet 
versed  in  the  practices  of  modern  warfare.  Now, 
on  the  way  back  to  his  billet  he  thought  of  Jean 
Lacroix's  story  and  a  strange  fit  of  nervousness 
laid  hold  of  him.  What  might  happen  in  the 
darkness  he  could  not  tell,  and  he  wished  that  his 
mates  had  not  gone  leaving  him  to  come  back 
alone.  They  ought  to  have  looked  him  up.  He 
was  annoyed  with  them.    He  was  angry. 

The  road  stretched  out  in  front  a  dull  streak 
of  grey,  lined  with  ghostly  poplars,  that  lost  it- 
self in  the  darkness  ahead.  The  night  was 
gloomy  and  chilly,  a  low  weird  wind  crooned  in 
the  grass  and  a  belated  night-bird  shrieked  pain- 
fully in  the  sky  above.  Far  out  in  front  the  car- 
nage was  in  full  swing,  the  red  fury  of  war  lit 
the  line  of  battle  and  darts  of  flame,  ghastly  red, 


36  The  Brown  Brethren 

pierced  the  clouds  in  a  hasty  succession  of  short 
vicious  stabs.  Round  Fitzgerald  was  the  flat 
dead  country,  black  and  limitless,  and  over  it 
from  time  to  time  swift  flashes  of  light  would 
rise  and  tremble  in  the  gloom  like  will-o'-the- 
wisps  over  a  churchyard.  The  sharp  penetrat- 
ing odour  of  dung  was  in  the  air,  the  night-breath 
of  the  low-lying  land  of  Flanders. 

The  shadows  gathered  round  the  man  silently. 
One  rushed  in  from  the  fields  and  took  on  an  al- 
most definite  form  on  the  roadway  in  front.  He 
could  not  help  gazing  round  from  time  to  time 
and  staring  back  along  the  road.  What  might 
be  following!  He  was  all  alone,  apart  from  his 
kind,  isolated.  One  hand  gripped  tightly  on  his 
rifle  and  the  fingers  of  the  other  fumbled  at  his 
bandolier.  He  ran  his  hand  over  the  cartridges, 
counting  them  aloud.  Fifty  rounds.  But  he  had 
none  in  the  magazine  of  his  rifle.  He  should 
have  five  there.  But  he  would  not  put  them  in 
now.    He  would  make  too  much  noise. 

He  walked  at  a  good  steady  pace ;  and  hummed 
a  tune  under  his  breath,  trying  thus  to  keep  down 
any  disposition  to  shiver.  His  eyes  becoming 
accustomed  to  the  darkness  could  now  take  stock 
of  the  roadway,  the  grassy  verge  and  the  ditch 
on  either  side.     The  poplars  rose  high  and  be- 


The  Lone  Road  37 

came  one  with  the  sombre  darkness  of  the  sky. 
Shadows  lurked  in  the  ditches,  bundled  together 
and  plotting  some  mischief  towards  him.  His 
imagination  conceived  ghastly  pictures  of  men 
lying  flat  in  the  shadows  staring  at  the  heavens 
with  glazed,   unseeing   eyes,   their   throats   cut 

across  from  ear  to  ear What  a  row  his 

footsteps  created !  The  noise  he  kicked  up  must 
have  echoed  across  the  world.  He  hummed  a 
tune  viciously  and  stared  intensely  into  the  re- 
moter darkness  of  the  unknown. 

The  breeze  whimpered  amidst  the  poplar  leaves 
and  its  sigh  was  carried  ever  so  far  away.  Again 
a  shadow  swept  up  from  the  fields  and  took  shape 
on  the  road  in  front.  Fitzgerald  advanced  to- 
wards it  quickly  and  collided  with  a  solid  mass, 
a  living  form. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  muttered. 

"Good  evening,''  said  a  voice  with  a  queer 
strange  note  in  it.    ''You  are  out  late." 

''I  am  going  back  to  my  billet  now,"  Fitzgerald 
said,  and  asked:    ''Where  are  you  going?" 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation  before  the 
stranger  replied,  saying:  "I'm  going  to  the  next 
village." 

Fitzgerald  could  now  siee  that  the  man  was 
dressed  as  an  English  soldier  in  a  khaki  uniform. 


38  The  Brown  Brethren 

a  rifle  over  his  shoulder  and  a  bandolier  round 
his  chest.  Germans  often  disguise  themselves 
as  British  soldiers,  Jean  Lacroix  said 

"What  do  you  belong  to?''  Fitzgerald  asked, 
stepping  off  after  the  momentary  halt.  The  man 
accompanied  him. 

"The  Army  Service  Corps,''  he  answered 
readily  enough,  but  his  accent  struck  Fitzgerald 
as  being  strangely  unfamiliar;  in  his  low  guttural 
tones  there  was  something  foreign.  English 
could  not  have  been  his  mother  tongue.  For  a 
while  there  was  silence,  but  suddenly  as  if  over- 
come by  a  sense  of  embarrassment  due  to  the  si- 
lence, the  man  spoke. 

"Have  you  been  long  in  France?"  he  asked. 

"I  have  been  here  for  some  time,"  Fitzgerald 
answered. 

"What  is  your  regiment?" 

Being  warned  against  giving  any  information 
to  strangers,  Fitzgerald  gave  an  evasive  reply. 

"Oh,  a  line  regiment,"  he  said. 

The  man  chuckled.  "Looks  like  it,"  he  said. 
"Are  you  billeted  here?" 

"I'm  billeted  at  .  .  .  ."  Fitzgerald  stopped  and 
asked  "Where  are  you  billeted?" 

"Oh,  at  the  next  village,"  said  the  man.  "A 
number  of  the  A.S.C.  are  billeted  there." 


The  Lone  Road  39 

Again  a  long  silence.  Their  boots  crunched 
angrily  on  the  roadway  and  ahead  the  lights  of 
war  lit  up  the  horizon. 

''They're  fighting  like  hell  up  there/'  said  the 
man.  ''There's  a  big  battle  on  now.  Has  your 
regiment  been  called  up?" 

As  he  spoke  he  pulled  his  rifle  forward  across 
his  chest  and  fumbled  with  the  bolt.  Fitzgerald 
stared  at  him  fascinated,  his  nerves  strained  to 
an  acute  pitch. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  your  rifle?''  he 
asked. 

"Oh,  nothing,"  the  stranger  answered  and 
slung  the  weapon  over  his  left  shoulder. 

Had  the  man  a  round  in  the  breech  ?  Fitzgerald 
wondered.  For  himself  he  had  not  even  a  car- 
tridge in  the  magazine.  What  a  fool  he  had  been 
not  to  take  the  precaution  of  being  prepared  for 

emergencies The  stranger  came  close  to 

his  side  and  his  shoulder  almost  touched  Fitz- 
gerald's. The  Rifleman  moved  to  the  left,  close 
to  the  verge  of  the  road  and  his  hand  slipped 
towards  his  bandolier. 

"It's  very  dark  to-night,"  he  said  as  his  fingers 
closed  on  a  cartridge, 

"Very  dark,"  said  the  man. 

"There's  no  moon,"  Fitzgerald  remarked  as 


40  The  Brown  Brethren 

he  slipped  the  bolt  of  his  rifle  back.  Then  with 
due  caution  he  pressed  the  cartridge  into  the 
mouth  of  the  magazine.  As  far  as  he  could  judge 
the  stranger  had  not  noticed  the  action. 

"No,  there's  no  moon/'  he  said  in  answer  to 
Fitzgerald's  remark. 

"How  far  is  it  to  the  next  village?"  asked 
Fitzgerald  and  shoved  the  rounds  into  the  maga- 
zine. The  cartridge-clip  clattered  on  to  the 
cobbles. 

"You've  dropped  something,"  said  the  stran- 
ger.   "What  was  it?" 

"I've  dropped  nothing,"  the  Irishman  replied. 
"I  must  have  hit  my  boot  against  something." 

He  glanced  at  the  stranger's  face.  White  and 
ghostly  it  looked,  with  a  protruding  jowl  and  a 
dark  moustache  that  drooped  over  the  lips.  As 
Fitzgerald  spoke  he  pressed  the  bolt  home  and 
now  felt  a  certain  confidence  enter  his  being. 
There  was  the  round  snug  in  the  breech  of  his 
rifle.    One  touch  of  the  trigger 

"Did  you  think  I  dropped  a  shilling?"  he 
laughed.    "Wish  I  had  one  to  throw  away." 

"Many  a  one  would  wish  the  same,"  said  the 
man  gruffly. 

Then  he  whistled  a  tune  through  his  teeth,  a 


The  Lone  Road  41 

contemplative  whistle  as  if  he  were  considering 
something. 

"You're  at  Y Farm,  of  course,"  he  sud- 
denly remarked.  ''There  are  a  number  of  sol- 
diers billeted  there.    You  know  the  way  to  it?" 

'1  know  the  way,"  Fitzgerald  answered. 

"You  leave  the  road  at  a  ruined  cottage  along 
here  and  cross  the  fields,"  said  the  man.  "I'm 
going  that  way  myself." 

"I  leave  the  road  further  along,"  the  Irishman 
said  hastily. 

"Nonsense,"  said  the  man.  "Past  the  ruined 
cottage  is  the  best  way." 

"I'm  not  going  that  way,"  Fitzgerald  said. 

"Not  going  that  way,"  repeated  his  compan- 
ion.    "Why  not?" 

"I  don't  know  the  road  through  the  fields 
there." 

"But  I  know  the  way." 

"I  prefer  to  go  further  along,"  said  Fitzger- 
ald.   "Two  of  my  mates  are  just  ahead." 

"Where  are  they?"  asked  the  stranger  in  a 
tone  of  surprise.    "I  thought  you  were  all  alone." 

"They  are  just  a  few  hundred  yards  on  in 
front,"  was  the  answer.    "Not  so  far  away." 

"Oh !"  said  the  man.  "Then  that  is  why  you're 
in  such  a  hurry." 


42  The  Brown  Brethren 

"rm  in  no  particular  hurry,"  said  Fitzgerald. 
"But  it  is  wise  to  be  back  before  Xights  out/  '"^ 

He  could  see  the  ruined  cottage  in  front  now, 
a  black  blur  against  the  night.  The  limitless 
levels  stretched  out  on  either  side,  frogs  croaked 
in  the  ponds,  now  and  then  a  light  shot  up  from 
the  fields,  trembled  in  air  for  a  moment  and  died 
away.  The  breezes  of  the  night,  the  "unseen 
multitude,"  as  the  ancients  called  them,  capered 
by,  crooning  wearily.  In  front,  far  ahead,  the 
artillery  fire  redoubled  in  intensity  and  the  sky 
was  lit  by  the  brilliance  of  day. 

"Hell's  loose  out  there,"  said  the  stranger. 
"It's  not  good  to  be  there;  it's  not  good  to  die." 

The  stranger  turned  off  the  road  and  walked 
a  few  yards  down  a  lane  in  the  direction  of  the 
cottage. 

"I'm  not  going  that  way,"  said  Fitzgerald  com- 
ing to  a  halt.    His  companion  stopped. 

"Afraid?"  he  said. 

"Afraid!  H'm!  I'm  not  afraid,"  the  Irish- 
man answered,  nettled  at  the  word.  "All  right, 
you  go  ahead.    I'll  follow." 

The  man  did  not  move.  He  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  and  brought  something  out,  something 
dark,  small  and  tipped  at  the  points  as  if  with 
silver.    Fitzgerald  imagined  it  to  be  a  revolver 


The  Lone  Road  43 

and  he  slid  his  rifle  forward  so  that  its  muzzle 
pointed  at  the  man's  body. 

"Hold  your  weapon  up,  you  fool,"  said  the 
stranger,  and  a  note  of  concern  was  in  his  voice. 
"I've  a  pocket  lamp  here.  We'll  get  off  into  the 
fields  now  and  I'll  light  the  way  with  this.  The 
place  is  full  of  ponds  and  drains.  Last  night  I 
fell  into  a  hole  somewhere  about  this  place  .  .  .  • 
you  get  off  in  front." 

"I'll  follow,"  said  Fitzgerald.  "You  lead  the 
way." 

"All  right,"  the  man  meekly  responded.  "Now 
we  get  off  the  road." 

He  slipped  into  the  field  and  the  Irishman 
followed.  Both  were  now  near  the  cottage  and 
they  could  see  its  bare  rafters  and  ruined  walls 
clearly.  It  looked  gloomy  and  forbidding  .... 
As  Fitzgerald  gazed  at  the  cottage  he  saw  a  light 
close  to  the  dark  ground;  a  tremulous  flame 
gleamed  for  a  moment  and  was  gone. 

"Did  you  see  that?"  asked  the  Irishman.  "A 
light  near  the  cottage?" 

"I  saw  nothing,"  said  his  companion. 

"You  didn't  see  the  flame.  There's  somebody 
in  front.    Friends  of  yours  maybe." 

"I've  no  friends  here You  saw  a  light  ? 

.  .  .  .  Nonsense!" 


"There,  what  is  that?"  asked  the  Irishman  as 
he  heard  a  thud  as  of  somebody  falling  over  a 
hurdle.    "Did  you  not  hear  it?" 

"Yes,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  stranger  extin- 
guishing his  torch.  "I  heard  something.  Shall 
I  shout?" 

"Why?" 

"Why?"  exclaimed  the  man.  "Only  to  find 
out  who's  there.    Hallo!"  he  yelled. 

Somebody  answered  with  a  loud  "hallo!"  and 
again  a  light  gleamed  in  the  darkness. 

"Who's  there?"  shouted  the  stranger. 
"It's  us,"  came  the  answer.    "Blurry  well  lost 
in  this  blurry  'ole.    'Oo  are  yer?" 

"Spudhole !"  Fitzgerald  shouted  in  a  glad  voice 
for  he  recognised  the  voice  of  his  mate.  "Is 
Bowdy  and  the  sergeant  with  you?" 

"Oh!  It's  old  Fitz,"  Spudhole  exclaimed. 
"We're  lost,  the  three  o'  us,  and  we  don't  know 
where  we  are.  D'you  know  the  way  to  the 
farm?" 

"We'll  soon  get  there,"  Fitzgerald  replied. 
"I've  somebody  with  me  who  knows  the  way." 

"Bring  'im  along  'ere  then,"  said  Bubb. 

Fitzgerald  turned  to  his  companion  who  had 
just  moved  to  one  side,  but  now  he  could  not  see 


The  Lone  Road  45 

him.  On  his  right  a  dark  form  became  one  with 
the  night  and  lost  itself. 

''Hi !"  Fitzgerald  shouted.  But  there  was  no 
reply. 

''Hi  there !''  he  cried  in  a  louder  voice,  but  no 
answer  came  back. 

"There  was  somebody  with  me  but  he's  gone 
now/'  he  said  to  Bubb  when  he  reached  him 
where  he  stood  along  with  Benners  and  the  ser- 
geant beside  a  dark  pond  near  the  ruined  cottage. 

"Well,  we  had  better  try  and  get  back  to  our 
billet,"  the  sergeant  remarked.  "Damn  these 
beastly  fields!  We'll  be  damned  unlucky  if  we 
don't  get  out  o'  'em." 

They  got  into  the  farmhouse  at  eleven  o'clock. 
All  their  mates  were  in  bed  and  the  watch-dog 
at  the  gate  bit  Bubb  in  the  upper  part  of  the 
thigh  as  he  came  in. 


CHAPTER  III 


IN    LOVE 

As  I  was  going  up  the  road 
Ma'selle  said,  "Voules  vous 
Come  in  and  have  some  pain  et  heurre 
And  cafe  au  lait  for  two." 

So  now  I  hope  the  war  won't  end; 
I'll  never  go  away 
And  leave  my  little  Madamoiselle 
Who  sells  good  cafe  au  lait. 


I  hope  the  war  will  never  end, — 

A  curse  upon  the  day 

That  takes  me  away  from   Madamoiselle, 

Who  sells  good  cafe  au  lait. 

(From  "The  Love  of  an  Hour.") 

FITZGERALD  made  his  way  to  the  barn, 
which  was  above  the  byre,  sat  down  in 
the  straw  but  did  not  unloosen  his  puttees 
or  boots. 

A  lamp  swinging  from  a  beam  lit  up  the  apart- 
ment, showing  the  straw  heaped  in  the  corners, 
the  sickles  and  spades  hanging  from  the  rafters, 
the  sleepers  lying  in  all  conceivable  positions, 

the  bundles   of   equipment,   the   soldiers'   rifles 

46 


In  Love  47 

which  stood  piled  in  the  corners  out  of  the  way. 
Now  and  again  a  rat  glided  across  the  straw, 
stood  for  a  moment  in  the  light,  peered  cau- 
tiously round,  and  disappeared.  The  air  was  full 
of  the  smell  of  musty  wood,  of  straw,  and  of  the 
byre  underneath.  All  was  very  quiet,  little 
could  be  heard  save  the  breathing  of  the  men,  the 
noise  of  the  restless  cattle  as  they  lay  down  or  got 
up  again.  Snoggers  and  Benners  laid  themselves 
on  the  straw,  Bowdy  curled  up  like  a  dog,  Snog- 
gers stretched  out  as  stiffly  as  a  statue.  Bubb  un- 
dressed and  Fitzgerald,  getting  to  his  feet,  ap- 
plied sticking  plaster  to  the  dog's  bite. 

"You'll  go  mad,  you  know,"  said  Fitzgerald. 
"The  only  thing  that  can  save  you  is  to  get  three 
hairs  of  the  dog  that  bit  you  and  put  them  on 
here." 

Having  performed  his  job  Fitzgerald  sat  down 
and  Bubb  dressed  again.  Then  he  lay  on  the 
straw,  both  hands  in  his  overcoat  pockets,  one 
leg  across  the  other  and  a  cigarette  in  his  mouth. 

"Get  down  to  it,  Fitz,"  Snogger  shouted. 
"Ye're  damned  slow  o'  showin'  a  leg  in  the  morn- 
in',  you  woman." 

"It's  all  right.  Sergeant,"  the  Irishman  re- 
plied. "I'm  just  goin'  to  look  at  a  paper.  Til 
be  in  bed  in  a  twinkling." 


48  The  Brown  Brethren 

''Douse  the  glim  'fore  you  kip,  then/'  said  the 
sergeant.     ''Night!" 

Fitzgerald  fumbled  in  his  pocket,  brought  out 
a  newspaper  and  looked  at  it.  His  thoughts 
seemed  to  be  elsewhere,  for  his  eye,  scanning  the 
printed  columns  of  an  advertisement  page,  turned 
from  time  to  time  and  rested  on  the  face  of  Ser- 
geant Snogger. 

"I  think  it's  safe  now,"  said  Fitzgerald,  when 
five  minutes  had  passed.  "Old  Snogger  is  snor- 
ing." 

The  sergeant  was  indeed  asleep,  but  had  not 
lost  his  military  pose.  He  might  have  been 
frozen  stiff  while  standing  to  attention  on  the 
parade  ground  and  carried  from  there  into  the 
barn  and  placed  down  just  as  he  had  been  stand- 
ing. Bowdy  was  fighting  Germans  in  his  dreams. 
Bubb's  cigarette  had  fallen  on  his  clothes  and 
the  smell  of  burning  pervaded  the  barn. 

Fitzgerald  got  to  his  feet,  dropped  the  news- 
paper, lifted  the  fag-end  from  Bubb's  overcoat 
and  turned  out  the  lamp.  Then,  stepping  across 
the  sleepers,  he  made  his  way  cautiously  to  the 
door  and  descended  the  steps  leading  to  the 
farmyard.  The  night  was  very  quiet;  and  very 
dark.  The  lights  were  out  in  the  farmhouse;  no 
doubt  the  occupants  were  all  in  bed. 


In  Love  49 

"What  am  I  doing  out  here?"  Fitz  asked  him- 
self. 'I'm  drunk,  that's  why."  He  stood  still 
and  he  could  feel  his  heart  beating.  Something 
was  moving  in  the  midden  and  grunting. 

"It's  a  pig,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Irishman. 
"They're  all  over  the  place."  Then  he  thought 
of  the  dog  that  had  bit  Bubb.  "Will  it  bite  me  ?" 
he  questioned  and  moved  hurriedly  across  the 
farmyard  towards  the  gable  end  of  the  building. 
He  stood  there  for  a  second  to  draw  breath,  then 
he  went  round  to  the  back  of  the  house. 

All  were  not  yet  in  bed,  a  light  burned  behind 
a  small  four-paned  window  and  the  shadow  of 
a  girl  showed  on  the  blind.  Standing  a  little 
distance  from  the  window,  Fitzgerald  stared  at 
the  shadow,  watching  its  movements.  For  a 
moment  he  had  a  view  of  a  face  in  profile,  then 
of  a  head  bent  down  and  an  arm  stretching  out 
as  if  pulling  a  needle  from  a  piece  of  cloth.  The 
girl  no  doubt  was  mending  some  clothes. 

"That's  Fifi,"  said  Fitzgerald  in  a  whisper. 
His  voice  was  husky  and  a  lump  rose  in  his 
throat.  "She's  very  graceful  bending  over  her 
work  ....  Damn  it!  I'm  in  love  with  her 
.  ...  If  not  that,  I  have  a  great  respect  for 
her  ever  since  I  saw  her  for  the  first  time  .... 
I  suppose  I  have  been  a  gay  Don  Juan,  but  Fifi 


50  The  Brown  Brethren 

....  Well,  Fve  never  felt  like  this  before 
....  Probably  Vm  drunk  and  to-morrow  .... 
But  all  to-day  and  yesterday  I  felt  the  same 
.  .  .  .  I  don't  think  I  am  drunk  for  I  put  the 
bandage  on  with  a  firm  hand  ....  If  she  would 
open  the  window  and  look  out  only  for  a  mo- 
ment ....  I  want  to  see  her;  I  must  see  her 
.  .  .  .  Suppose  she  spoke  to  me  and  then  told 
Snogger  in  the  morning,  told  him  that  I  was 
hanging  about  her  bedroom  window  all  night, 
what  would  he  say?  ....  Oh!  damn  Snogger, 
he's  a  fool  ....  Til  tap  on  the  pane,  anyway." 

Fitzgerald  went  up  to  the  window,  pressed  his 
hand  softly  against  the  pane,  but  drew  it  quickly 
away. 

'1  can't,"  he  muttered  under  his  breath.  "My 
God,  why  have  I  not  more  courage  ....  a  gay 
Don  Juan  ....  But  perhaps  she'd  do  some- 
thing awful,  throw  a  tin  of  water  or  ....  A 
gay  Don  Juan,"  he  repeated,  in  a  louder  voice, 
and  then  added :  "It  doesn't  matter.  I'll  let  her 
know  I'm  here." 

He  raised  his  hand  and  tapped  lightly  on  the 
pane,  then  turned,  walked  off  for  a  distance  of  a 
few  yards  and  stopped.  Looking  back  he  saw 
the  light  turned  down  and  heard  the  window 
open.    The  girl  looked  out  into  the  darkness. 


In  Love  51 

'Who  IS  there?''  she  called  in  a  low  voice. 
'What  do  you  want?" 

Moving  quietly,  Fitzgerald  made  his  way  back 
to  the  window  again.  The  girl  could  see  him 
now  and  apparently  recognised  him. 

''English  soldier,  you  should  be  asleep,"  she 
said,  in  a  voice  charged  with  laughter.  "Go 
away.    What  do  you  want?" 

"I  want  nothing,"  said  Fitzgerald  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

In  the  shadows  he  could  see  the  outline  of  her 
face,  which  looked  strangely  white.  "I  was  up 
at  the  Cafe,"  he  said.  "Coming  back  I  saw  the 
light,  so  I  tapped  ....  Is  it  not  time  for  you 
to  be  in  bed?" 

"Listen  to  him!"  said  the  girl,  speaking  in  a 
whisper,  and  bringing  her  face  close  to  the  man's. 
"Time  to  be  in  bed,  indeed !  What  does  it  mat- 
ter to  you  when  I  go  to  bed?  And  I  have  work 
to  do.  You  English  soldiers  never  work  .... 
Go  away !" 

"You  are  always  working,  Fifi,"  said  Fitzger- 
ald, without  moving  from  where  he  stood. 

"Always  working,"  repeated  the  girl.  "We 
are  not  like  English  girls ;  they  never  work.  They 
have  too  much  money.    But  I  must  go  to  bed," 


52  The  Brown  Brethren 

she  said,  making  as  though  to  shut  the  window. 
"Au  revoir,  English  soldier." 

"Not  yet,  not  yet!"  said  Fitzgerald,  speaking 
hurriedly.    "I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"What  are  you  going  to  say?"  asked  the  girl 
in  a  hesitating  voice. 

Fitzgerald  was  silent.  He  had  so  much  to  say, 
but  in  reality  he  said  nothing  at  all.  He  merely 
coughed,  unbuttoned  the  pockets  of  his  tunic  and 
buttoned  them  up  again.  He  looked  at  the  girl, 
and  her  eyes  dropped. 

'What  are  you  going  to  tell  me?"  she  asked. 

"Nothing,"  Fitzgerald  stammered.  "I  mean 
....  Au  revoir,  Fifi." 

He  turned  round  and  walked  away.  When  he 
got  to  the  corner,  he  heard  her  calling. 

"English  soldier,  come  back,"  she  said  in  a 
loud  whisper. 

Fitzgerald  was  back  with  her  in  an  instant. 

"What  is  it,  Fifi?"  he  asked. 

"Souvenir  pour  moi,"  she  said,  in  a  coaxing 
voice.  "Jam,  hat  badges,  many  souvenirs.  Boots 
for  my  father  in  the  trenches.  Other  soldiers 
give  me  souvenirs  often — but  you — never.  The 
sergeant  gave  me  a  big  knife.  Also  chocolate. 
His  mother  sent  it  to  him  from  England.     But 


In  Love  53 

you,  you  never  give  me  anything.  Will  you  give 
me  some  souvenirs  to-morrow?" 

"All  right,  I  will,  Fifi,"  said  Fitzgerald. 
''Many  souvenirs." 

''And  ril  give  you  beer,  cafe-au-lait,  several 
things,"  said  the  girl,  pulling  the  window  a  little 
way  towards  her.    "Au  revoir,  English  soldier." 

She  held  out  her  hand,  the  left,  the  nearer  to 
her  heart,  and  Fitzgerald  took  hold  of  it.  Fifi 
looked  at  him  smiling. 

"Are  you  in  love?"  he  asked. 

"No,"  said  the  girl.    "Are  you?" 

"No,  certainly  not,"  said  Fitzgerald.  "I  never 
have  been." 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  said  Fifi.  "You  Eng- 
lish cannot  be  trusted.  The  English  girls  are 
so  well  dressed." 

"Why  don't  you  believe  me?"  asked  Fitzger- 
ald, pressing  her  hand,  and  she  made  no  effort 
to  withdraw  it.  "I  have  never  been  in  love;  but 
now  ....  since  I  have  met  you  ....  I  would 
do  anything  for  you,  Fifi.  You  are  the  nicest 
girl " 

He  paused,  conscience  stricken,  for  his  words 
seemed  so  futile.  For  a  moment  he  paused,  and 
then  a  strange  thing  happened.  In  all  his  days 
afterwards  he  could  not  account  for  it.    How  it 


54  The  Brown  Brethren 

took  place  was  beyond  his  understanding,  but  he 
had  taken  Fifi  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

''Fifi,  I  love  you/'  he  said.  'I'll  do  anything 
for  you.  After  the  war,  I'll  marry  you,  come 
here  and  live,  or  take  you  to  England — whatever 
you  desire  ....  Tell  me  that  you  care  for  me," 
he  said,  pressing  her  to  his  breast. 

Fifi  started  back  like  a  frightened  fawn  and 
pulled  the  window  to.  Almost  immediately  she 
opened  it  again  and  looked  out. 

''Go  away,  English  soldier,"  she  said,  but 
there  was  no  anger  in  her  voice.  "You're  drunk 
and  you  should  be  in  bed." 

Fitzgerald  hung  around  the  place  for  quite  an 
hour  afterwards,  but  Fifi  did  not  come  to  the 
window  again. 

Early  the  next  morning,  after  a  sleepless  night, 
he  found  himself  in  the  house  of  Josef  Babette. 
The  man  himself  was  away  at  the  war,  his  wife 
and  daughter  were  running  the  place  during  his 
absence.  They  had  only  one  servant,  a  relative 
of  Madame  Babette,  an  oldish  man,  lean  and 
twisted  up,  with  bis  mouth  almost  hidden  between 
nose  and  chin.  But  he  was  a  good  worker ;  few 
could  surpass  him  at  his  labour  on  the  wet  level 
fields.  Madame  Babette  was  very  industrious, 
she  got  out  of  bed  every  morning  at  five  and 


In  Love  55 

nine  at  night  saw  her  finishing  up  the  day's  la- 
bour. So  from  week  to  week,  her  toil  went  on 
all  the  year  round.  Only  on  Sunday  did  she  seek 
a  moment's  relaxation,  then  she  went  to  church, 
told  her  beads  and  prayed  for  her  good  man  who 
was  away  in  the  trenches  fighting  the  battles  of 
France. 

Fitzgerald  was  sitting  near  the  stove,  writing 
up  his  diary,  a  habit  he  contracted  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war  and  which  he  was  still  relig- 
iously pursuing.  Mother  Babette  was  washing 
her  dishes.  She  was  a  thin,  shrivelled  woman  of 
forty  years  of  age,  bent  a  little  through  hard 
work  but  still  untiring  as  an  ant. 

An  adventurous  hen  was  picking  up  the  crumbs 
under  the  chairs.  Two  chickens,  less  daring  than 
their  older  feathered  friend,  came  in,  stalked  gin- 
gerly up  to  their  mate,  seized  each  a  crumb  in 
their  beaks  and  ran  off  as  fast  as  their  red  legs 
could  carry  them. 

Mother  Babette  finished  her  work,  wiped  the 
table,  dusted  the  stove,  put  the  plates  on  the 
dresser  and  sat  down.  Fitzgerald  continued 
writing,  but  looked  up  now  and  again  and  took 
in  with  his  eye  the  walls  blackened  with  smoke, 
the  rafters  festooned  with  spider  webs,  the 
strings  of  onions  hanging  from  the  beams,  the 


56  The  Brown  Brethren 

tall  wooden  clock  beside  the  dresser  and  the  dog 
which  lay  under  the  table,  wagging  its  tail  and 
shaking  its   ears   as   if  trying  to   get   rid   of 

flies 

Then  Fitzgerald's  eyes  were  attracted  by  some- 
thing else.  Outside  the  door  Fifi  was  standing, 
throwing  crumbs  to  the  hens  which  clustered 
round  her  feet.  She  was  a  well-built  girl  of 
eighteen  with  velvety  black  eyes  and  a  fascinat- 
ing face.  She  wore  a  grey  blouse  and  a  striped 
petticoat  which  reached  a  little  lower  than  her 
knees,  strong  sabots  and  a  kerchief  which  was 
tied  carelessly  around  her  head.  A  prudent  and 
hard-working  girl,  she  had  already  fed  the  pigs, 
foddered  and  milked  the  cows,  in  addition  to  the 
hundred  and  one  little  things  which  must  be  done 
every  morning  in  a  farmyard.  She  was  in  a 
good  humour  when  she  entered  the  house,  her 
white  teeth  and  bright  eyes  were  made  for  laugh- 
ter, and  the  girl's  face  generally  wore  a  provok- 
ingly  coquettish  expression.  But  behind  it  all 
lay  hidden  a  reserve  of  restraint  and  dignity 
which  showed  itself  when  the  soldiers,  speaking 
as  soldiers  often  speak,  went  too  far  with  an  in- 
delicate jest.  Fifi  would  look  steadily,  with  wide 
open  eyes,  at  the  speaker  for  a  moment,  then 
the  eyelids  would  slowly  descend  and  the  girl 


In  Love  57 

would  rise  to  her  feet  and  proceed  with  her  work. 

This  morning,  she  went  up  to  Fitzgerald  where 
he  sat  beside  the  stove,  writing. 

''To  your  sweetheart?"  she  asked. 

The  Irishman  flushed  crimson  and  closed  the 
diary. 

"No,  I  have  no  sweetheart." 

"You  haven't  slept;  you  look  tired,"  said  Fifi. 

"I  couldn't  sleep.  How  could  I,  after  last 
night?" 

What  a  fool  he  had  been,  he  thought.  Raving 
of  love  and  marriage  at  the  cafe,  then  proposing 
marriage  to  Fifi.  If  Snogger  and  Bubb  and 
Bowdy  knew  all  that  had  happened  last  night, 
what  would  they  say?  They  would  never  cease 
twitting  him.  And  Fifi.  What  was  she  think- 
ing of  now?  Of  the  affair  at  the  window,  prob- 
ably. He  looked  up  at  her.  Her  eyelids  dropped, 
but  behind  this  shyness  there  was  something  im- 
petuous and  passionate  in  the  whole  of  her  per- 
sonality. And  he  had  kissed  her  last  night.  He 
had  pressed  those  lips  in  one  great  kiss.  But 
now  she  seemed  very  far  removed  from  him. 
And  the  souvenirs.  The  request  of  the  night 
before  seemed  so  unworthy  of  the  girl. 

"You  couldn't  sleep  last  night,"  said  Fifi. 
"Why  not?" 


58  The  Brown  Brethren 

*'I  was  thinking  of  you,  of  all  that  took  place." 

"But  you  were  drunk?'' 

"I  was  not.  I  remember  all  that  happened. 
I  have  gathered  up  a  lot  of  souvenirs  for  you." 

'*I  don't  want  any,"  said  the  girl.  "I  was  only 
joking." 

"But  you  must." 

"No,  no.  Have  some  coffee.  Who  are  you 
writing  to?"  she  asked. 

"Nobody,"  said  Fitzgerald.  "It's  part  of  a 
diary." 

"Is  that  true?" 

"Yes,  quite  true." 

"Not  writing  to  a  woman  in  England?"  said 
Fifi.  "There  was  a  soldier  here  some  time  ago. 
He  used  to  run  after  me.  And  I  discovered  that 
he  had  a  wife  in  England." 

"I  have  neither  wife  nor  sweetheart,"  said 
Fitzgerald.  "But  if  you,  Fifi  ....  I  am  seri- 
ous, you  know  .  .  .  ." 

At  that  moment  a  French  soldier  came  to  the 
door,  a  man  of  about  forty-two.  Over  his 
shoulder  he  carried  a  kit-bag.  Fifi  and  her 
mother  ran  up  to  the  man  and  embraced  him. 
Josef  Babette  was  back  home  on  leave,  after 
seven  months  of  war.  He  was  a  strong-muscled, 
well-built  man  of  medium  size,  a  good  soldier 


In  Love  59 

and  diligent  worker.  He  was  a  well-to-do  far- 
mer, a  respectable  man,  who  was  trusted  by  his 
neighbours  and  bounden  to  none.  He  placed  his 
kit  away  carefully  in  a  corner,  bade  good  morn- 
ing to  Fitzgerald,  and  sat  down.  Fifi  brewed  a 
fresh  pot  of  coffee ;  Babette  spoke  about  the  war. 
He  had  just  come  from  Souchez,  and  it  was  a 
bad  locality.  He  had  never  known  a  spot  as 
bad.  No  peace  day  or  night.  And  as  far  as  he 
could  see  the  war  would  never  come  to  an  end. 

He  drank  his  coffee,  got  to  his  feet,  and  went 
outside.  Fifi,  whose  eyes  were  wet  with  tears 
of  gladness,  lifted  the  kitbag  from  the  ground 
and  took  it  into  the  bedroom. 

"Where  has  your  father  gone?''  Fitzgerald 
asked  her  when  she  returned. 

"Oh,  he  has  gone  out  to  work,"  she  replied. 
"Things  are  behindhand  on  the  farm.  We  have 
so  little  help." 

Fitzgerald  went  out  into  the  farmyard.  Josef 
Babette  was  harnessing  a  cart-horse,  his  coat  off 
and  his  shirt-sleeves  thrust  up  over  his  elbows. 
Sergeant  Snogger  was  washing  at  the  pump. 

"Ow're  yer  feelin'  after  last  night?"  he  asked. 

"Not  so  bad,  sergeant,"  Fitzgerald  replied. 

"Been  in  seein'  Fifi?"  asked  the  sergeant. 

"I  have,"  said  Fitzgerald.    "She's  a  splendid 


6o  The  Brown  Brethren 

girl.  I  love  her,  and  if  she'll  have  me  after  the 
war,  ril  marry  her.  God!  there's  something 
grand  in  her ;  too  good  for  me.  But  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  her.  She  won't  trust  me,  thinks 
I'm  married,  or  something  like  that.  And  I  love 
her,  but  she  refuses  to  understand  me.  We  are 
so  far  apart,  somehow." 

Snogger  looked  through  his  soapsuds  at  Fitz- 
gerald, astonished  at  the  Irishman's  burst  of  con- 
fidence. 

'There  is  nothing  artificial  about  the  girl," 
Fitzgerald  continued.  ''She  is  grand,  so  simple 
and  original.  She  says  what  she  thinks  and  is 
far  too  childish  to  hide  her  thoughts.  And  I 
don't  think  she  has  much  of  an  opinion  of  us." 

"I  don't  think  any  of  these  'ere  French 
wenches  care  much  for  an  English  Tommy," 
said  Snogger.  "They'll  go  a  little  way  wiv  'em 
and  then  they  turn  the  deaf  ear.  I  never  was 
able  to  fool  about  wiv  'em.  They're  more  freer 
than  English  birds  at  first,  but  it's  '  'ands  oflf* 
if  you  want  too  much.  They're  all  right  if  it's 
only  cawfee  and  kisses,  but  ye'll  never  get  any 
further." 

Snoggers  winked  knowingly  and  laughed. 
Fitzgerald  made  his  way  into  the  barn. 


CHAPTER  IV 

TO  THE  TRENCHES 

I  knew  a  bird  at  *Ammersmith  and  free  or  four  at  Bow, 
But  that  was  'fore  the  war  begun,  a  damned  long  time  ago; 
But  I'm  a  blurry  Tommy  now  and  never  lose  a  chance 
When  far  away  from  dear  old  Smoke  to  kiss  the  girls  o* 
France. 

Never  lose  a  chance, 
Lead  the  dears  a  dance, 
Twasn*t  bad  at  'Ammersmith;  God!   It's   fun  in  France! 

(From  "Forgotten  Girls") 

IT  was  early  morning;  the  soldiers  billeted  in 
Y Farm  were  rousing  themselves  and 

making  preparations  for  the  march  up  to- 
wards the  firing  line.  It  was  now  coming  to- 
wards the  Christmas  season;  the  weather  was 
cold  and  rainy,  the  farmyard  damp  and  muddy, 
and  a  haze  rose  over  the  midden  in  the  centre  of 
the  yard.  Inside  the  farmhouse  two  officers  were 
sitting  down  at  the  only  table  eating  a  breakfast 
of  bread,  butter,  eggs  and  tea. 

The  soldiers  were  in  the  barn  preparing  their 
early  meal.  The  barn  seen  in  daylight  was  a 
cold,  bleak,  cheerless  place,  with  a  broken  roof 
and  rough  uneven  floor.    The  men  shivered  as 

6i 


62  The  Brown  Brethren 

they  toiled.  They  had  slept  in  the  cold  and  felt 
frozen  when  they  got  up.  A  big  fire  had  been 
lit  in  the  byre  beneath ;  the  smoke  filled  the  whole 
place  and  stung  the  eyes  of  the  soldiers  who 
worked  at  the  cooking. 

Sergeant  Snogger  was  superintending  opera- 
tions upstairs  and  fretting,  fuming  and  coughing. 
He  was  in  a  very  bad  temper,  having  lost  a 
week's  wages  at  the  gambling  table  the  night 
before. 

*'  'Urry  up,  you  men,"  he  yelled.  '1  never  seed 
as  slummicky  a  crush  in  my  natural.  Ye're 
slouchin'  about  same  as  if  ye  were  in  the  trenches. 
Come  on  Bowdy !  Come  on  Fitz !  Get  a  blurry 
move  on,  ye  Spudhole !  Ye're  dowsy,  men,  ye're 
dowsy !  Ye  must  wake  up.  We're  oflf  from  here 
in  an  hour's  time  and  we've  a  long  march  before 
us.    We'll  be  in  the  trenches  for  Christmas." 

"Where  are  we  stopping  to-night?"  asked 
Fitzgerald,  who  was  pouring  tea  into  a  messtin 
of  boiling  water,  brought  up  from  the  byre. 

''At  the  Ritz,"  said  Snogger  with  fine  irony. 

'1  heard  we  were  billeting  at  Vinant,"  some- 
one remarked. 

''I  thought  we  were  bound  for  Bethune," 
Bowdy  Benners  said  as  he  lifted  a  rasher  of  ba- 
con from  the  lid  of  his  messtin. 


To  the  Trenches  63 

"You  thought/'  spluttered  Snogger.  ''Gawd 
Almighty,  man,  you're  not  paid  to  think  in  the 
army!  If  you  think  too  much  you'll  find  your- 
self damned  unlucky.  Anyhow,  you'll  find  things 
hot  in  the  trenches  when  you  get  there  this  time, 
I'm  telling  you,"  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice. 
"There's  big  things  in  the  wind.  We  are  going 
up  by  slow  stages.  I'm  glad  that  we're  goin'. 
I  don't  like  these  rests ;  there's  too  much  damned 
work  to  do.  Give  me  the  trenches  when  I'm  on 
the  look-out  for  a  cushy  time.     It's  better  than 


'ere." 


The  sergeant  took  stock  of  the  apartment  with 
vigilant  eyes. 

"Now  this  'as  to  be  swept  out  'fore  you  go 
'way,"  he  said.  "All  fag-ends,  straw  and  every- 
thing 'as  to  be  cleaned  out." 

"Wot's  the  'ell  good  o'  cleaning  this  caboosh," 
growled  Bubb.    "It  can't  be  made  clean." 

"It's  got  to  be  done,"  said  Snogger,  raising 
his  eyebrows  with  the  decision  of  a  verdict  be- 
yond appeal.  "It's  borders,  and  if  borders  isn't 
obeyed  ye'U  find  yourselves  damned  unlucky  .  .  . 
'As  anybody  got  a  fag  to  spare  ?" 

Somebody  handed  the  sergeant  a  cigarette  and 
he  lit  it.  This  seemed  to  put  him  in  a  good  hu- 
mour and  he  began  relating  to  Bowdy  Benners 


64    ,        The  Brown  Brethren 

the  story  of  his  card-playing  the  night  before. 

"Couldn't  get  a  card/'  he  said.  "I  was  dead 
off  all  the  night.  Once  I  got  a  top  trotter,  but 
Sergeant  MacManus  had  a  priol  of  deuces.  I 
went  some  money  on  my  'and  that  go.  But 
it's  as  I've  always  said:  When  a  man's  luck's 
out  s'out,  but  when  it's  in  s'in.' " 

The  sergeant  paused  as  if  waiting  for  the  full 
wisdom  of  his  remark  to  sink  into  Bowdy's 
brain.  Then  he  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
**Get  ready,  men,  get  ready !  We'll  soon  be  mov- 
in'  off,"  and  went  out  to  the  farmyard. 

Much  work  was  yet  to  be  done,  rifles  had  to  be 
cleaned,  odds  and  ends  had  to  be  collected  from 
the  straw.  Here  a  knife  and  fork  was  found, 
there  an  entrenching  tool  handle,  a  tin  of  bully 
beef,  a  towel  and  a  cake  of  soap.  A  great  amount 
of  stuff  is  lost  in  large  barns;  things  disappear 
mysteriously,  lost  in  the  straw  or  stolen,  perhaps, 
by  the  children  of  the  billet.  Soldiers  treating 
themselves  to  meals  at  village  cafes  often  find 
themselves  served  up  with  bully  beef  in  new 
guise. 

Outside  in  the  farmyard  the  fowls  were  stand- 
ing on  the  smoking  midden,  several  of  them 
scratching  the  dung  with  crooked  claws  in  search 
of  worms.    In  the  midst  of  the  assembly,  a  roost- 


To  the  Trenches  65 

er,  proud  as  Lucifer,  was  clucking  amorously. 
Now  and  again  he  selected  a  gentle  hen,  walked 
leisurely  round  her  and  strove  to  attract  her  at- 
tention. The  hen  would  fix  a  careless  but  co- 
quettish look  on  him,  stretch  out  a  wing  and 
stand  on  one  leg  for  a  moment.  Afterwards  she 
would  succumb  and  the  triumphant  Sultan  would 
stretch  out  his  neck  and  crow  a  challenge  to  any 
cock  that  dared  to  listen. 

At  the  hour  of  nine  the  battalion  was  ready  to 
move  off.  The  men  were  in  a  good  temper  now 
and  full  of  confidence.  The  every-day  inspection 
of  equipment  had  been  gone  through,  rifles  had 
been  examined  and  the  men's  feet  looked  at. 
All  were  so  cool  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe 
that  they  were  going  up  to  the  trenches,  in  which 
doubtless  a  number  of  them  would  lay  down  their 
lives.  Most  of  the  soldiers  carried  big  French 
loaves  on  the  back  of  their  packs.  The  loaves 
had  been  holed  through  the  middle,  a  string  was 
placed  in  the  hole  and  tied  to  the  dees  on  the 
braces. 

Sergeant  Snogger  made  a  final  inspection  of 
his  platoon. 

"  'Ave  yer  everything?"  he  asked,  then  without 
waiting  for  an  answer  he  went  on:  '^Course  yer 
should  'ave  everything.    If  ye  'aven't  ye  'aven't 


66  The  Brown  Brethren 

and  that's  all  Here,  where  the  devil  is  Fitz?" 
he  asked. 

"Forgot  somethin'  and  'e's  gone  into  the  barn," 
Bubb  replied. 

*'I  see,  I  see,"  said  Snogger,  winking  know- 
ingly. ''Fifi  'as  gone  in  too,  to  'elp  'im  look  for 
what  'e's  forgot." 

"  'E's  fair  dotty  on  the  bird,"  said  Bubb. 

*'But  'e's  forgotten  hisself,"  Snogger  re- 
marked. 'If  Captain  Thorley  finds  'im  missin' 
he'll  be  for  it.    Ah,  'ere  'e  comes." 

Fitzgerald  came  out  from  the  barn  fully 
equipped  and  took  his  place  in  the  ranks. 

"Ye're  just  in  time,"  said  Snogger.  ''Another 
minute  late  and  ye'd  be  for  it." 

Fitzgerald  laughed  awkwardly  and  cast  a 
sheepish  glance  back  at  the  barn.  Fifi  was  stand- 
ing at  the  door,  and  Bubb  vowed  she  was  cry- 
ing. 

"Fancy  'er  cryin'  cos  you're  goin'  off,  Fitz," 
he  said. 

Fitzgerald  did  not  reply. 

The  company  marched  off,  the  men  singing  at 
the  tops  of  their  voices;  Spudhole,  as  was  his 
wont,  leading  the  singing.  He  was  a  most  vi- 
vacious youth,  full  of  high  spirits  and  good  hu- 


To  the  Trenches  67 

mour,  fond  of  his  fun  and  his  beer,  and  as  vital 
at  the  end  of  a  journey  as  at  the  beginning. 

Despite  the  distance  which  a  regiment  may 
travel,  the  soldier  is  as  circumscribed  in  his  area 
as  the  spoke  of  a  limber  wheel.  The  space  is 
confined,  and  Spudhole  Bubb  was  no  less  a  pris- 
oner on  the  march  than  he  had  been  in  the  guard- 
room. Always  the  same  mates  in  front,  the  same 
ruddy  necks  pressed  sturdily  back,  the  same  red- 
brick hands  swinging  across  the  khaki,  the  same 
entrenching  tool  handles  waving  backwards  and 
forwards,  the  same  round  loaves  tied  to  the  packs, 
the  same  red-haired  sergeant  with  the  tops  of  his 
ears  pressing  tightly  to  his  head,  the  same  pla- 
toon commander  who  now  and  again  stood  out 
from  the  ranks  and  shouted  the  ancient  words  of 
command.  ''Get  a  step  there,  get  a  step!''  or 
''Cover  off  from  the  front"  or  some  such  order. 
Once  in  every  hour  a  whistle  was  blown  and  the 
whole  battalion  halted.  The  Captain  of  a  com- 
pany would  step  out  in  front,  halt,  turn  about 
and  shout  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  "Ten  minutes. 
Left  of  the  road.    Fall  out!" 

The  men  would  loosen  their  equipment  and 
throw  themselves  down  anywhere.  Cigarettes 
would  be  lit,  jokes  passed,  and  rations  taken  out 
of  haversacks.    A  few  would  drink  from  their 


68  The  Brown  Brethren 

water  bottles,  sipping  the  water  carefully,  for  it 
was  impossible  to  know  when  the  next  pump 
would  be  reached. 

At  the  end  of  the  fourth  hour  and  the  sixteenth 
fag  (Spudhole  computed  the  length  of  a  march 
by  the  number  of  fags  he  smoked  on  the  route), 
Fitzgerald,  who  had  been  silent  for  quite  a  long 
time,  turned  to  Benners  and  said:  "You  know, 
I  had  a  damned  strange  dream  last  night.  I 
dreamt  that  I  was  up  in  the  trenches  fighting  a 
big  German  who  got  in  my  way  somehow,  and 
he  ran  his  bayonet  through  my  neck.'* 

"You  may  get  killed  this  time,"  said  Benners. 

"No,  not  this  time,"  Fitzgerald  replied.  "I 
decided  that  by  the  cards  last  night.  'Red:  I 
come  back  safe;  black:  I  don't'  I  said  to  myself, 
cut  the  cards  and  turned  up  the  ace  of  hearts.  A 
good  omen." 

"  'Ear  old  Fitz!"  muttered  Spudhole,  "  'e's  al- 
ways pullin'  our  legs." 

"You  don't  understand,  Spudhole,"  said  Fitz- 
gerald. "I'm  damned  superstitious.  Once  I 
dreamt  .  .  .  ." 

"One  night  I  had  a  dream,"  Bubb  interrupted. 
"Dreamt  I  was  'avin'  a  feed  at  the  S.P.O.*  shop. 
Next  day  I  was  at  the  street  corner  a  dogger-on 
*  Sausage,  potato  and  onion. 


To  the  Trenches  69 

for  flatties.  As  I  was  there  a  copper  comes  round 
the  other  turnin'  and  flops  into  the  banker  school. 
'Twasn't  arf  a  barney.  They  sets  about  'im  an' 
knocks  'im  down  and  I  gets  'is  'at  and  I  kicks  it 
along  the  street.  Didn't  arf  make  a  big  'ole  in  it 
either.  But  I  was  unlucky,  for  two  other  cop- 
pers comes  up  and  collars  me.  I  was  put  in  the 
reformatory.'' 

Sergeant  Snogger  detached  himself  from  the 
ranks. 

"Oo's  got  a  fag  to  give  away?"  he  asked  as 
Fitzgerald  came  up. 

^'Here's  one/'  said  Fitzgerald,  handing  the 
sergeant  a  cigarette. 

*'  'Ave  yer  'card  about  the  German  as  was  cap- 
tured about  'ere  the  other  day?"  asked  Snogger, 
marching  by  the  side  of  Fitzgerald  and  lighting 
the  fag.  *'  'E  was  got  sleeping  in  a  ruined  cot- 
tage near  the  Cafe  Belle  Vue.  Dressed  in  khaki, 
with  the  badge  of  the  A.S.C." 

*'Good  God !  I  must  have  met  that  man,"  said 
Fitzgerald,  and  told  for  the  first  time  the  story 
of  his  adventure  on  the  night  of  his  return  from 
the  Cafe. 

He  told  the  story  in  full,  frequently  interrupt- 
ing himself  and  going  back  in  the  narrative  to 
present  a  detail  which  he  had  forgotten.    When 


70  The  Brown  Brethren 

he  had  finished  he  looked  at  Snogger,  who  had 
listened  very  attentively,  and  suddenly  realised 
that  the  sergeant  did  not  believe  him.  To  be 
sure,  Fitzgerald  had  wandered  away  a  little  from 
the  absolute  truth,  and  the  story  of  his  own  be- 
haviour had  lost  nothing  in  the  telling.  A  sar- 
castic smile  showed  on  Snogger's  lips  and  Fitz- 
gerald suddenly  wished  that  the  narrative  had 
never  been  told. 

"Damned  good,  or  in  French,  tray  bon!"  said 
the  sergeant  in  a  drawling  voice.  '^Blurry  fine 
story.  That  A.S.C.  bloke  told  me  all  about  it. 
'E  was  one  of  our  own  men,  too,  not  an  A.S.C.  at 
all.  You  don't  know  the  feller.  'E's  in  another 
company.  But  'e's  alius  up  to  a  joke.  We 
planned  it  all  out  in  the  Cafe  after  old  Fatty  'ad 
told  that  cock  and  bull  story  about  the  Germans 
breakin'  through.  The  A.S.C.  man  was  to  wait 
for  you  on  the  road  outside.  Wasn't  that  the 
ticket,  Spudhole?" 

"That  was  'ow  we  planned  it  out,"  said  Bubb. 

Fitzgerald  puflfed  his  cigarette  viciously  and 
his  face  was  crimson.  For  a  moment  he  was  si- 
lent, then  he  spoke,  turning  to  Bubb. 

"I  cannot  follow  your  remark,  Bubb,"  he  said 
in  a  slow  voice.  "The  crash  of  your  falling 
aitches  drowns  all  other  sounds.     You  should 


To  the  Trenches  71 

take  a  lesson  in  pronunciation  from  Sergeant 
Snogger.  If  you  listen  to  him  when  he  orders 
the  'wear  wanks  to  wipe  their  wifles  wiv  woily 
wags/  you  can't  fail  to  become  a  master  of  Eng- 
lish as  it  is  spoken." 

The  sergeant  blushed  red  as  a  beetroot.  His 
imperfections  in  speaking  were  a  great  eyesore  to 
the  man,  and  only  once  before  had  he  been  twit- 
ted about  the  matter.  Then  thick  ears  and  black 
eyes  were  kept  as  mementoes  of  the  occasion. 

But  now  he  could  say  nothing;  he  had  given 
Fitzgerald  sufficient  provocation  to  warrant  the 
jibe.  Without  another  word  he  went  back  to 
the  head  of  his  platoon.  Fitzgerald  relapsed  into 
silence  and  the  march  went  on. 

At  one  o'clock  came  the  order  ''Halt!  Left  of 
the  road!  Fall  out!''  And  the  men  sank  down 
wearily.  Their  packs  were  very  heavy  and  their 
weight  seemed  to  increase  at  every  yard,  justify- 
ing the  soldiers'  proverb:  an  ounce  at  the  start 
is  a  pound  at  the  finish. 

"Blimey,  I  don't  know  why  we  carry  all  this 
'ere  clobber  about  wiv  us,"  Spudhole  muttered, 
leaning  back  on  his  pack  and  stretching  out  his 
legs  to  their  fullest  extent.  "Ballyclavvy  'elmet, 
trench  'elmet,  gas  'elmet  and  cap,"  he  enumer- 
ated.    "Bay'net,   'ipe,   trenchin'   tool,   munition 


72  The  Brown  Brethren 

(unner  and  eighty  rounds),  'ousewife,  'oldall, 
ground  sheet,  messtin,  razor,  soap,  comb,  towel, 
paybook,  clasp  knife,  iron  rashuns,  knife,  fork 
and  spoon,  a  bottle  of  water,  a  tin  of  condensed 
milk,  a  tin  of  cafe-o-lay,  chocolate,  matches  and 
a  box  o'  fags  .  .  .  ." 

'Til  carry  yer  fags  for  you  if  you  like,"  said 
Bowdy  Benners. 

"Will  yer?"  muttered  Bubb.  'Twe  lost  things 
that  way  'fore  now." 

"There  are  a  lot  of  things  which  you  haven't 
mentioned  yet,"  Fitzgerald  remarked.  "There's 
the  first  field  dressing,  the  loaf,  your  overcoat 
and  spare  shirt,  pants,  socks  and  vest.  By  the 
•  way,  what  are  we  stopping  here  for  ?"  he  asked. 
"There's  no  sign  of  dinner  as  far  as  I  can  see." 

"You're  damned  unlucky  about  dinner,"  said 
Snogger,  coming  up  at  that  moment.  "There's 
no  dinner,  not  yet  for  a  while,  anyhow.  We're 
going  away  from  'ere  by  buses  soon  as  they  come 
along." 

"Where  to?"  asked  Bowdy  Benners. 

"  'Ome,"  Snogger  answered  sarcastically. 
"  'Ome  to  the  trenches.  Big  doins  up  there,  I 
s'pose." 

"It's  like  the  blurry  Army,"  Bubb  remarked 
with  an  air  of  finality.    "Turnin'  us  out  to  fight 


To  the  Trenches  73 

when  we're  just  ready  for  a  bit  o'  grub.  I  never 
could  'old  with  this  'ere  war.  Look,  there  they 
come,  curse  'em!" 

An  omnibus  came  in  sight,  then  a  second,  a 
third;  coming  from  a  village  through  which  the 
battalion  had  just  passed.  As  the  vehicles  drew 
up  the  spirits  of  the  soldiers  seemed  to  rise,  jokes 
were  passed  with  the  drivers,  mock  enquiries 
were  made  and  jesting  answers  were  given:  *'Is 
this  the  bus  for  Wandsworth?"  ''Not  this  one — 
next  along  this  way,  No.  32."  ''Fares,  please." 
"Full  inside;  room  for  two  on  top,"  etc. 

The  soldiers  got  on  to  the  buses,  which  set  off 
hurriedly  when  all  were  aboard.  Nobody  seemed 
to  know  where  the  battalion  was  bound  for,  but 
all  anticipated  big  things  ahead.  The  soldiers' 
hearts  vibrated  with  a  strange  expectant  thrill — 
something  great  was  going  to  happen.  Where? 
When?  The  men  asked  one  another,  but  none 
could  answer  the  questions.  They  stood  on  the 
threshold  of  great  events;  children  outside  the 
door  of  a  chamber  of  mysteries. 


CHAPTER  V 

MARCHING 

The  good  French  girls  will  cook  brown  loaves  above  the 

oven  fire, 
And  while  they  do  the  daily  toil  of  barn  and  bench  and  byre, 
^They'll  think  of  hearty  fellows  gone  and  sigh  for  them  in 
vain — 
The  billet  boys,  the  London  lads  who  won't  return  again. 

(From  "Soldier  Songs") 

THE  men  moved  wearily,  grunting  and 
stumbling,   their  uniforms  muddy  and 
dirty,  their  rifles  held  at  all  angles.    Now 
and  again  one  would  stand  still  for  a  moment, 
look  round,  readjust  his  equipment  braces  and 
continue  marching.    On  all  faces  was  a  sluggish 

indifferent  look:  the  march  from  Y Farm 

had  begun  centuries  ago  and  would  never  end. 
They  kept  walking  and  walking,  drowsily  heed- 
less of  all  that  went  on  around  them. 

Although  midwinter  the  day  had  seemed  very 
close,  the  night  seemed  closer  still.  The  men 
sweated  as  they  marched.  The  silence  was  pro- 
found, hopeless  and  oppressive.    The  crunching 

74 


Marching  75 

boots  were  part  of  the  eternal  monotonous  si- 
lence; when  the  column  halted  the  cessation  of 
movement  came  like  a  blow  and  almost  stunned 
them  as  they  stood.  Where  was  the  battalion 
going  to?  Nobody  seemed  to  know  and  nobody 
cared  now.  Weariness  had  killed  the  men's  curi- 
osity. 

Sergeant  Snogger  came  along  on  the  right 
flank  of  his  company  during  one  of  these  stop- 
pages; his  feet  moving  ponderously,  his  back 
crooked  like  an  old  man's. 

''What's  up?"  somebody  asked. 

''Feel  to  the  left  or  you'll  be  damned  un- 
lucky," he  said.     "Reinforcements!" 

His  voice  was  almost  incoherent  and  his  tones 
were  charged  with  impatience. 

Dark  bulks  took  shape  on  their  right,  creaked 
and  thundered  for  a  moment,  then  vanished. 

"Reinforcements !"  someone  muttered,  and 
added :  "On  buses,  London  buses.  Same  as  we 
came  on  t'other  day.  And  we've  been  marching 
nearly  all  the  time  since  then!" 

Again  the  living  body  crawled  forward  step  by 
step.  Bubb  leant  forward  on  Fitzgerald's  arm, 
fell  asleep  but  still  continued  his  march.  Fitz 
could  feel  Bubb's  hand  on  his  own;  it  was  soft 
and  warm  but  very  heavy.     He  tried  to  shake  it 


76  The  Brown  Brethren 

off  but  it  clung  tighter  ....  Why  was  it  done 
to  him?  The  Irishman  was  not  conscious  of 
having  done  any  wrong.  But  to  press  his  hand 
with  pincers  and  crush  him  down  with  a  steam 
hammer — it  was  too  much  ....  He  was  fall- 
ing through  space  with  a  monstrous  load  on  his 
shoulders.  Down,  down^  ever  so  far  down  and 
no  bottom.  The  fall  was  endless.  A  branch  of 
a  tree  stretched  out  towards  his  hand  and  he 
strove  to  grip  it.  It  evaded  him  and  he  still  fell 
....  Fitzgerald  suddenly  bounced  into  con- 
scious life  to  see  figures  moving  forward  right 
in  front  of  him.  Then  he  knew  that  he  was  still 
marching,  marching  up  to  battle.  "What  bat- 
tle?" he  asked  himself,  and  then  became  an- 
noyed at  his  own  curiosity.  *'I  don't  know/'  he 
muttered.  'What  the  hell  does  it  matter,  any- 
way?" 

'*Are  you  sleepy  ?"  asked  Bubb,  who  had  woke 
up. 

"No,"  the  Irishman  answered  unconcernedly. 
"Please  take  your  hand  away !  Take  it  away  at 
once." 

Bubb  paid  no  heed  but  his  hand  gripped  tighter 
still.  Fitz  tried  to  shake  it  off,  but  the  effort 
was  monstrously  futile.  But  what  did  it  matter  ? 
He  was  living  in  a  confused  and  muddled  night-, 


Marching  77 

mare  and  his  mind  was  a  great  vacant  chamber 
filled 'With  spectres  more  impalpable  than  air. 

''The  lights!''  somebody  said.  'Xook  at 
them!" 

The  starshells  seemed  very  near,  blazing  in 
the  heavens,  green,  red  and  white.  The  green 
was  restful  to  look  upon,  the  white  hard  and  cold; 
the  red  starshells  were  lurid  wounds'  dripping 
with  blood.  Fitz  shuddered  and  his  eyes  sought 
the  ground  again 


"On  the  left  of  the  road,  fall  out!'' 
The  command  was  given  in  a  weak  voice  and 
the  men  dropped  down  on  the  withered  grass.  It 
was  now  almost  dawn;  the  ambulance  waggons 
were  tearing  along  the  road  and  the  wounded 
could  be  heard  groaning  and  cursing  as  the  ve- 
hicles were  jolted  from  side  to  side  on  the  cob- 
bled way. 

The  battle  to  which  the  London  Boys  were 
going  was  at  an  end  now.  The  soldiers  were 
dimly  conscious  of  this  but  all  were  indifferent 

to  the  result  of  the  conflict Most  of  the 

men  were  already  asleep.     A  cold  breeze  was 
blowing  and  high  up  in  the  air  the  starshells  were 


78  The  Brown  Brethren 

still  blazing  merrily  over  the  firing  line 

Soldiers  came  tottering  back  from  battle  in  pla- 
toons, in  squads,  in  pairs.  They  were  all  war- 
worn and  dejected,  they  straggled  by,  their  heads 
sunk  on  their  breasts.  Now  and  again  the  men 
spoke  to  them,  but  they  seldom  made  answer  and 
when  they  replied  their  answers  were  ever  the 
same. 

''The  Boche  attacked,"  they  said.  "Christ!  he 
didn't  half  send  some  stuflf  across  'fore  he  came 
over.    We  chased  him  back.    But  'twas  a  fight." 

Fitzgerald  lay  close  to  the  earth  and  he  could 
smell  the  moist  clay  and  dead  grass.  It  was  very 
cold  too.  He  turned  over  on  his  side  and  stretched 
out  his  legs  to  their  full  extent.  It  was  now  on 
the  fringe  of  dawn  .... 

The  earth  grew  pale  and  objects  in  the  near 
distance  took  on  definite  form  .... 

Fitzgerald  woke  with  a  start  and  got  to  his 
feet.  He  had  been  asleep  for  a  few  minutes  only. 
His  mates  were  buckling  their  belts  and  grum- 
bling at  their  lot.  What  was  going  to  happen 
now  ?  Going  back  again  and  all  that  damned  trek 
for  nothing.  Not  one  of  them  could  march  an- 
other hundred  yards  .... 

"We're  not  going  far  back,"  Snogger  said. 
"Just  a  mile  or  so  and  we'll  billet  at  a  village. 


Marching  79 

Then  you  can  all  'ave  a  kip.  That's  if  ye're 
lucky." 

"And  the  attack?''  Fitz  asked.  "Was  it 
beaten  off?'' 

"Yes,"  said  the  sergeant.  "The  Germans  got 
as  far  as  our  trench  and  there  they  stopped; 
some  of  them  for  good.  We're  lucky  we  weren't 
in  it,  I'm  thinking  ....  Come  on,  boys,  and 
pull  yourselves  together,"  he  shouted.  "We've 
got  to  get  out  of  this  before  it  gets  too  clear. 
It'll  soon  be  broad  daylight,  and  we'll  be  damned 
unlucky  if  we're  'ere  then." 

Wounded  men  who  were  able  to  walk  strag- 
gled along  the  road.  When  they  fell  they  fell 
silently  and  got  up  mutely.  But  many  fell  and 
did  not  rise. 

The  men  were  well  on  their  way  when  dawn 
broke,  and  the  rim  of  the  sky  flushed  crimson. 
Dead  mules  lay  on  the  cobbled  ways,  torn  with 
ghastly  wounds;  drivers  in  khaki,  helplessly  im- 
potent, lay  huddled  amidst  their  broken  limbers. 
The  roadway  was  gutted  by  shells  and  the  pop- 
lars that  lined  the  path  were  scarred  and  peeled 
by  many  a  projectile.  Behind,  the  shells  were 
bursting  and  the  sound  of  explosions  quivered 
through  the  crisp  clear  air. 

If  the  men  looked  back  they  could  see  the  hills 


8o  The  Brown  Brethren 

behind,  rising  out  of  the  dawn,  the  white  mists 
in  the  Zouave  valley — the  valley  of  Death,  the 
Cabaret  Rouge,  the  inn  on  the  Souchez  Road, 
and  Souchez  itself  which  is  now  a  heap  of  pow- 
dered dust.  War  had  rent  and  riven  many  a 
village  but  Souchez  it  had  powdered  to  dust.  Not 
the  fragment  of  a  single  wall  remained  stand- 
ing and  not  a  whole  brick  remained  of  the  vil- 
lage of  Souchez. 

Higher  than  any  of  the  hills  of  Lorrette  rose 
*'The  Pimple,"  the  highest  peak  in  the  district. 
From  the  top  mile  after  mile  of  the  surrounding 
country  was  visible — woods,  roads,  towns,  vil- 
lages and  canals.  The  French  were  supposed  to 
be  holding  it. 

Sergeant  Snogger,  who  had  been  marching  in 
front,  came  back  and  kept  in  step  with  Bowdy 
Benners  and  his  mates. 

"The  French  lost  'The  Pimple'  last  night,"  he 
said.  "There  were  two  thousand  'oldin'  the  place 
and  the  Germans  turned  every  damned  gun 
they'd  got  on  it.  Blew  it  to  blazes,  they  did. 
Not  one  Frenchman  came  back ;  and  they  say 
none  was  taken  prisoners.  They  were  damned 
unlucky." 

Half-an-hour's  march  brought  the  men  to  a 
little  village,  broken,  ruined,  untenanted.    There 


Marching  8i 

they  halted  while  the  officers  inspected  the  cel- 
lars, seeking  shelter  where  their  men  might  sleep. 
Snogger's  friends  were  lucky  and  found  a  cellar, 
the  floor  of  which  was  littered  with  hay,  and 
here  they  lay  down,  but  not  before  they  lit  a  can- 
dle to  frighten  the  rats  away.  Holding  himself 
erect,  Snogger  tried  to  unbuckle  his  equipment, 
but  his  fingers  'were  unable  to  perform  the  task. 
**Damn  it!''  he  shouted  in  a  petulant  voice  and 
collapsed  in  a  heap  on  the  straw  where  he  lay 
crumpled  up.  He  might  have  been  hit  in  the 
head  by  a  bullet  so  sudden  was  his  fall. 

The  men  lay  near  the  bottom  of  the  cellar 
stairs;  the  apartment  lost  itself  in  unfathomable 
corners,  and  there  the  rats  were  scurrying  back- 
wards and  forwards.  Bowdy  was  just  dropping 
ofif  to  sleep  when  a  hoarse  sepulchral  yell  echoed 
through  the  cellar  and  a  strange  unearthly  figure 
rushed  into  the  circle  of  candle-light,  waving  his 
arms  in  the  air  and  shouting  in  a  strange  inco- 
herent voice.  The  men  were  looking  at  a  French 
soldier. 

He  came  to  a  halt  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs ;  his 
eyelids  slowly  opened,  the  eyes  took  in  the  apart- 
ment— the  dim  candle,  the  forms  lying  on  the 
floor. 

"Who  are  you?''  he  asked  in  a  steady  voice. 


82  The  Brown  Brethren 

Then  as  if  collecting  his  scattered  wits  he  mut- 
tered: ''You  are  billeted  here.  I  have  just  come 
down  from  the  Timple'  ....  I'm  the  only  man 
left  ....  Who  has  a  drop  of  water  to  spare?" 

Thus  did  Fitzgerald,  who  woke  up,  translate 
the  man's  remarks.  Bowdy  gave  him  a  drink  of 
water.  He  lay  down  again  in  one  of  the  men's 
overcoats  and  was  soon  asleep.  As  the  men 
dozed  off  one  by  one  the  rats  drew  closer,  peering 
curiously  out  from  the  darkness  of  the  remote 
corners  of  the  cellar  ....  Fitzgerald  fell 
asleep  to  awake  suddenly  with  a  start.  A  rat 
had  run  over  his  face. 

"The  damned  pests,"  he  muttered  getting  to 
his  feet.  '1  can't  stand  them.  I'll  get  outside 
and  sleep  on  the  ground.  God !  it's  strange  how 
a  little  thing  like  a  rat  disturbs  me,"  he  muttered. 

He  went  outside,  lay  down  on  the  cobbles  and 
slept  the  sleep  of  a  weary  man. 

In  the  evening  the  battalion  marched  away 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  Souchez  and  entered 
the  Loos  Salient  just  in  time  for  the  Christmas 
season. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CHRISTMAS  EVE 

The  sergeant's  water  bottle's  full, 

But  it  is  strange  to  see 

The  sergeant  on  the  'ear'ole  for 

Some  water  for  his  tea. 

But  ain't  it  strange  when  night  is  on 

And  we  are  out  o'  sight, 

The  sergeant  takes  his  bottle  out 

And  swigs  from  it  all  night 

Cold  water — 

Co-o-old  water — 
Co-o,  0-0,  o-o,  0-0,  co-o-old  water. 

(From  ''The  Lost  Rum  Ration") 

IT  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  and 
an  unusual  silence  brooded  over  the  Loos 
Salient.  In  the  trenches  the  silence  always 
broods;  the  soldiers,  not  knowing  what  the  mo- 
ment may  bring  forth,  are  uneasy ;  and  the  eter- 
nal hidden  menace  of  the  Unknown  is  intensi- 
fied by  the  stillness.  The  evening  was  intensely 
dark;  black,  impenetrable  shadows  bulked  in  the 
trenches  and  became  the  colour  of  the  parapet, 
parados  and  bay.  Objects  quite  near  at  hand 
took  on  strange  fantastic  shapes  and  looked  like 

83 


84  The  Brown  Brethren 

men  lying  asleep  on  the  firesteps;  only  a  closer 
examination  would  show  that  the  phantoms  were 
sandbags  or  ammunition  boxes.  Many  of  the 
boys  were  smoking;  the  lighted  cigarettes  glowed 
like  rubies  set  in  an  illimitable  spread  of  ebony. 

It  was  raining;  a  soft,  almost  caressing  rain 
dropped  sleekly  and  helplessly  down  on  the  firing 
line.  In  this  manner  it  had  been  falling  for 
hours ;  the  trenches  were  filled  to  the  firestep  with 
slush  and  muck;  the  duck-boards  were  afloat,  and 
men  changing  their  position  in  the  trench  clam- 
bered out  over  the  top  and  walked  along  the 
reverse  slope  of  the  parapet.  Now  and  again  a 
wayfarer  stuck  in  the  clinging  quicksand  of  the 
trench  floor,  only  to  free  himself  when  he  suc- 
ceeded in  climbing  out  of  his  Wellington  boots. 

Fitzgerald  sat  down  on  the  firestep  and  sank 
into  the  soft  mud..  So  complete  was  the  stillness 
that  he  could  distinctly  hear  all  the  varied  sounds 
of  the  night  mingling  together  in  a  long-drawn, 
slumberous  murmur.  The  far-oflf  death  lullaby 
of  a  heavy  shell,  the  soft,  quivering  croon  of  the 
damp  wind,  the  sough  of  a  boot  as  a  soldier 
walked  along  the  trench ;  the  vague  murmurings 
from  a  near  dug-out,  the  enervating  sizzle  of 
falling  rain,  and  the  varied,  indefinable  night 
movements  of  Nature  blended  sleepily  together 


Christmas  Eve  85 

in  a  slumber  that  made  for  nightmares  and  fe- 
vered dreams. 

Fitzgerald  dozed  off,  only  to  wake  in  an  instant 
by  hearing  voices  speaking  very  close  to  him. 

''Spudhole,  my  rifle  is  full  of  dirt;  half  a  sand- 
bag of  chalk  has  gone  down  the  barrel/*  said 
the  voice  of  Bowdy  Benners. 

"Mine  is  full  up  o'  muck,  too,''  said  Spudhole. 
There  was  an  indifference  in  his  tones.  He 
seemed  to  have  lost  all  interest  in  his  best  friend, 
his  "  'ipe." 

''I  don't  care  a  damn,"  he  muttered.  "A 
nipe's  only  made  to  be  cleaned  in  this  'ere  war 
as  far  as  I  can  see." 

*'When  is  the  rum  coming  up?"  Bowdy  en- 
quired.   'Trobably  we'll  get  none  to-night." 

''  'S'up,"  said  Bubb,  "round  the  next  bay  in 
the  dug-out." 

"Well,  I'm  off,"  said  Bowdy.  "I'm  half 
frozen.  I'm  for  a  good  tot  if  it's  going  .... 
By  the  way,"  he  asked,  as  if  it  had  suddenly  oc- 
curred to  him,  "how  many  of  our  fellows  were 
blown  up  by  the  mine  this  morning?" 

"Seven  or  eight,"  said  Bubb,  "or  maybe  more." 

"And  to  think  that  to-night's  Christmas  Eve," 
said  Benners,  as  if  the  conversation  had  forcibly 
reminded  him  of  the  fact. 


86  The  Brown  Brethren 

The  two  men  clambered  over  the  top  and  made 
their  way  towards  the  dug-out  from  which  the 
rum  was  issued. 

Fitzgerald  got  up  and  followed. 

As  he  crawled  over  the  sandbags  a  starshell 
rose  into  the  darkness  and  lit  the  scene  of  war. 
The  country  showed  wet  and  livid,  the  barbed 
wire  entanglements  wound  crookedly  along  the 
levels.  The  wires  stretched  out  waiting  for  their 
prey  with  threatening  barbs. 

In  the  brooding  silence  and  the  locality  of  war, 
Hate  and  Vengeance  persisted,  and  were  well  in 
keeping  with  the  ominous  night,  and  here  it 
seemed  they  found  their  most  direct  expression. 
Fitzgerald  looked  around,  and  queer,  fragment- 
ary thoughts  rioted  in  his  head.  He  remembered 
a  verse  of  a  song  which  he  had  once  heard,  and 
repeated  it  aloud. 

"Here  comes  I,  Jack  Straw; 
Such  a  man  you  never  saw; 
Through  a  rock,  through  a  reel, 
Through  an  old  spinning-wheel, 
Through  a  mill  hopper,  through  a  bag  of  pepper; 
Sheep  shanks,  chicken  bone — 
Give  me  a  kiss  or  leave  me  alone." 

"What  has  put  this  nonsense  into  my  mind?" 
he  asked  himself.  'Trobably  it  is  because  it  is 
part  of  a  Christmas  carol And  this  is 


Christmas  Eve  87 

Christmas  eve Two  thousand  years  gone 

by  and  the  message  of  the  Prince  of  Peace  not 

made  manifest  yet Well,  I  wonder  if  the 

rum  is  waiting  ....?" 

He  made  his  w^ay  into  the  trench  again,  and 
came  in  sight  of  the  dug-out,  with  its  candle  lit 
in  a  niche  of  the  chalky  wall,  and  its  huddled 
occupants  lying  on  the  floor.  A  few,  no  doubt, 
were  asleep.  Two  or  three  were  sitting,  their 
backs  against  the  chalk,  their  heads  bent  down 
almost  between  their  knees.  All  were  dressed 
in  sheepskin  coats,  khaki  trousers  and  high  boots, 
and  wore  full  equipment,  their  cartridge  pouches 
being  well  stocked  with  ammunition.  Although 
a  bank  of  earth  was  heaped  up  on  the  doorstep, 
it  did  not  prevent  the  water  from  dripping  inside. 
The  floor  of  the  dug-out  was  as  mucky  as  the 
floor  of  the  trench.  Stooping  down,  Fitzgerald 
crawled  in  through  the  narrow  door  of  the 
shelter. 

Bubb  was  already  inside,  scraping  the  muck 
from  his  boots  with  a  clasp  knife.  Behind  him, 
with  his  back  against  the  wall,  sat  Bowdy  Ben- 
ners,  cutting  a  lump  of  cheese  into  small  portions. 

The  cheese  was  a  big  item  of  the  Christmas 
Eve  rations. 

He  was  sitting  down  now,  his  head  thrust  for- 


88  The  Brown  Brethren 

ward,  his  big  hands  busy  with  the  cheese.  As 
Fitzgerald  entered  he  looked  up,  then  glanced 
round  the  dug-out. 

"Not  much  grub  to-night,  boys,"  he  said. 
"Four  biscuits,  a  half  a  tin  of  bully  and  a  piece 
of  cheese  for'each  man.'' 

"And  the  rum?''  asked  Bubb,  forestalling 
every  man  with  the  question. 

"It's  here  all  right,"  said  Bowdy. 

They  stared  open-mouthed  for  a  full  second, 
then  a  roar  of  delight  echoed  through  the  dug- 
out and  the  sleepers  awoke.  Bubb  rose  to  his 
feet,  whirled  his  clasp  knife  round  his  hand,  en- 
deavoured to  dance  a  jig,  and  only  stopped  when 
his  head  came  in  forcible  contact  with  the  roof 
for  the  third  time.  Fitzgerald  chuckled;  a  glow 
of  satisfaction  lit  up  his  handsome  face,  and  his 
eyes  rested  lovingly  on  the  sandbag  which  stood 
in  an  angle  of  the  wall  near  the  door.  Then  he 
lay  back,  rested  his  head  on  the  wall  and  stared 
at  the  candle.  In  that  position  he  looked  a  very 
charming  boy,  and  he  knew  it.  In  civil  life  he 
must  have  been  very  fond  of  society,  the  company 
of  notable  people,  and  above  all  of  pretty  women. 

Again  he  looked  at  the  sandbag  in  the  angle 
of  the  wall,  but  his  eyes  were  not  the  only  ones 


Christmas  Eve  89 

fixed  on  that  object.  And  no  wonder:  the  sand- 
bag contained  the  rum  jar. 

'Well,  wot  about  a  tot?''  asked  Bubb. 

Bowdy  rose  and  took  the  sandbag  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  where  he  uncovered  the  precious 
jar  and  filled  a  mess-tin  of  liquor.  He  handed 
the  tin  to  Bubb. 

"Cheero!''  said  the  Cockney,  and  drank.  He 
passed  the  tin  round  and  wiped  his  lips. 
"There's  some  guts  in  rum,"  he  muttered,  and 
his  voice  was  full  of  emotion.  "Gawd!  it  doesn't 
'arf  warm  up  the  inside  of  a  bloke.  Now,  wot 
about  a  Christmas  dinner?"  he  continued. 
"Bully  ain't  wot  one  would  call  tres  bon,  is  it? 
Christmas  dinner  of  bully  beef!  Gor'blimey! 
that's  no  blurry  good!" 

"It's  a  funny  thing  that  a  full  belly  always  is 
associated  with  happiness,"  said  Fitzgerald, 
shaking  his  head  and  laughing  loudly.  Rum 
went  easily  to  his  head.  "If  a  man  gets  mar- 
ried, he  feeds  well,  and  if  a  child  is  born  to  him, 
he  stufifs  himself  with  viands.  It's  always  his 
belly." 

"Always,"  said  Bubb,  reaching  a  second  time 
for  the  mess-tin. 

"It  doesn't  matter  what  Fitz  says,"  remarked 
Bowdy  Benners,  sinking  his  chin  into  the  collar 


90  The  Brown  Brethren 

of  his  sheepskin  coat.  "What  I  say  is  this:  We 
must  have  a  Christmas  dinner  to-morrow/' 

''How  can  we  get  one?''  Fitz  enquired. 

"Easy  enough  that/'  said  Bowdy.  "I  know 
an  old  woman  of  the  Cafe  Calomphie.  A  parcel 
of  good  things  could  be  got  there  for  a  few 
francs.  I  could  go  down  to  Les  Brebis  in  an 
hour." 

"But  they're  shelling  the  road/'  Fitzgerald 
remarked.  "Blowing  holes  in  it,  and  the  houses 
are  flying  about  the  streets.  Not  only  that,  but 
you're  not  supposed  to  go  away  from  here.  And 
again,  all  shops  are  closed  at  nine  o'clock.  It's 
well  past  eight  now " 

"But  that  doesn't  matter,"  said  Bowdy.  "The 
woman  of  the  cafe  is  a  great  friend  of  mine." 

"Ye're  a  sly  old  dawg,  Bowdy,"  said  Bubb. 
"No  one  'ud  fink  that  to  look  at  yer." 

Bowdy  went  red  in  the  face,  and  proceeded  to 
buckle  his  equipment,  his  hands  trembling  a  little 
over  the  job. 

"We'll  have  a  collection,  anyhow,"  said  Fitz- 
gerald, and  he  flung  a  coin  into  his  mess-tin. 
Several  coins  followed,  and  in  the  end  the  mag- 
nificent sum  of  twelve  francs  fifty  was  collected. 

Bowdy  put  the  money  in  his  pocket,  took  a  last 


Christmas  Eve  91 

long-drawn  pull  at  his  cigarette,  and  went  out- 
side. 

'Til  be  back  again  in  no  time/'  were  his  final 
words. 

The  men  turned  their  attention  to  the  rum  jar 
again;  tongues  were  loosened  and  stories  of  past 
Christmases  went  round  the  dug-out.  Bubb, 
strong  on  the  traditions  of  the  regiment,  told  the 
story  of  the  Brigadier's  kit  inspection  at  St.  Al- 
bans the  Christmas  previous. 

''The  'ole  Brig  come  round  when  'e  was  in- 
spectin'  us,  and  'e  looked  at  my  pack,''  said  Bubb. 
"  'That's  the  neatest  pack  I've  seed  in  the  'ole 
battalion,'  says  the  Brig.  '  'Ave  yer  got  every- 
thing that's  laid  down  in  orders  in  that  'ere  pack?' 
'e  says  to  me.  'Everything,'  I  sez.  'I  know  that 
the  contents  of  a  nice  pack  is  always  nice  and 
clean,'  'e  says.  Til  just  'ave  a  look  at  yer  pack. 
Take  it  off  and  take  out  everything  and  lay  them 
out,'  'e  says.  Gor'  blimey !  I  did  wot  'e  ordered 
me,  an'  my  bloomin'  pack  was  full  of  straw. 
'Twas  lighter  to  carry  than  the  or'nary  caboosh. 
Fourteen  days'  spudhole,"  Bubb  concluded. 

Fitzgerald  was  singing  a  song  and  waving  an 
empty  mess-tin  over  his  head.  The  song  was 
one  of  his  own  making,  a  Rabelaisian  production 
with  a  snappy  chorus.    All  joined  in  and  drank 


92  The  Brown  Brethren 

in  turn.  Suddenly  they  heard  the  dull  rumble 
of  approaching  shells  and  the  loud  explosions  of 
the  missiles  in  the  fields  outside.  Fitzgerald  lit 
a  cigarette  and  finished  a  chorus. 

"TheyVe    strafing    again,"    he    said.      ''The 
damned  pastime  will  never  come  to  an  end." 


CHAPTER  VII 

CHRISTMAS  DAY 

Blurry  well  f reezin'  and  cold  as  sin, 

Christmas  Day  in  the  mornin'; 
The  big  guns  welcome  the  Saviour  in, 

Christmas  Day  in  the  mornin'; 
Used  to  have  fingers  and  used  to  have  toes. 
Used  to  have  ears  as  well  as  a  nose, 
But  now  I  don't  think  that  I've  any  of  those 

Christmas  Day  in  the  mornin'. 

Wish  we  was  safe  in  a  stall  to-day, 

Christmas   Day   in   the  mornin'; 
Watching  the  cattle  munchin'  their  hay, 

Christmas   Day   in   the   mornin'; 
The  Prince  of  Peace  was  born,  we're  told, 
Snug  in  a  stall  in  the  days  of  old; 
Lord,  look  down  on  us  'ere  in  the  cold, 

On  Christmas  Day  in  the  mornin'. 

(From  "Carols  of  Good  WilL") 

THE  dawn  was  at  hand,  the  dawn  of 
Christmas  Day.  Fitzgerald  was  stand- 
ing on  the  firestep  looking  over  No  Man's 
Land  towards  the  enemy's  trenches.  It  was  his 
hour  on  sentry-go.  The  rain  was  still  falling, 
and  his  hands  and  feet  felt  very  cold,  but  he  was 
powerless  to  restore  any  warmth  to  his  body  by 
moving  about.    To  leave  the  firestep  for  a  mo- 

93 


94  The  Brown  Brethren 

ment  was  dangerous.  He  knew  that  if  he  stuck 
in  the  mud  of  the  trench  he  could  not  extricate 
himself,  for  he  felt  utterly  worn  out.  He  had 
been  warm  enough  when  he  went  on  watch  owing 
to  the  rum  which  he  had  drunk,  but  now  he  was 
shivering  as  if  his  whole  being  had  been  stricken 
with  ague.  He  tried  to  warm  his  legs  by  striking 
one  against  the  other,  but  his  feet  felt  so  heavy 
that  he  desisted  after  two  or  three  ineffectual 
endeavours  to  release  them  from  the  mud.  The 
slightest  movement  was  a  monstrous  futility,  and 
now  that  it  had  become  so  difficult  to  move  he  did 
not  want  to  remain  still,  and  he  had  the  greatest 
desire  in  the  world  to  be  free-footed  and  doing 
something. 

The  Germans  were  shelling  the  sector  on  the 
right,  and  the  chill,  wet  morning  was  lit  up  by 
the  lurid  flashes  of  bursting  explosives.  The  air 
was  full  of  the  rumbling  and  crashing  of  the  con- 
flict; shells  sped  across  the  trench,  careering  to-  ' 
wards  some  distant  objective,  probably  the  vil- 
lage, where  old  Bowdy  was  routing  out  the  es- 
sentials for  a  Christmas  dinner.  And  Bowdy 
had  not  returned  yet ;  some  nine  hours  had  gone 
by  since  he  departed  on  his  mission. 

"Probably  he  has  got  blown  to  pieces,"  Fitz- 
gerald muttered.    'Toor  old  Bowdy." 


Christmas  Day  95 

Then  he  passed,  without  further  thought  of 
Bowdy,  to  memories  which  came  into  his  head 
at  random.  He  thought  of  his  home,  away  up 
a  little  glen  in  Galway,  of  the  neighbours  there, 
of  Doalty  Fadhan,  the  great  gambler,  who  al- 
ways won  when  he  turned  his  coat  outside  in,  of 
Eamon  Hudagh,  who  got  drunk  at  Glenagh  Fair 
and  lost  his  clothes  somewhere  at  night;  in  the 
morning  he  came  across  the  hills  in  a  red  flannel 
petticoat;  of  Paddy  Brogan  who  cleared  out  the 
same  fair  with  a  stone  in  the  foot  of  a  woman's 
stocking.  ''I  wish  I  was  in  Glenagh  now,''  Fitz- 
gerald said.  ''A  good  turf  fire,  a  bit  and  a  sup 
and  the  neighbours  coming  in  for  the  night's 
raking."  Then  all  these  memories  and  desires 
floated  together  and  jumbled  themselves  up  in  his 
head,  and  he  fell  asleep.  He  was  awakened  by 
a  feeling  that  everything  was  not  as  it  should 
be.  For  the  unusual  there  was  only  one  place 
to  look,  out  on  his  front,  and  his  eyes  were  al- 
ready fixed  on  the  grey,  formless  level  which  lay 
between  his  trench  and  the  enemy's.  Nothing 
changed  there,  everything  just  ...  .  Then  Fitz- 
gerald saw  a  huge  bulk  take  shape  on  his  right 
front,  twenty  yards  from  the  trench  and  fifty 
yards  away  from  the  spot  where  he  stood.  The 
bulk  rose  upright,  like  a  gigantic  monster  of  some 


96  The  Brown  Brethren 

pre-Adamite  age,  paused  for  a  second  as  if  con- 
sidering something,  then  it  burst  in  twain,  and 
Fitzgerald  flopped  down  into  the  mucky  trench, 
half  blinded  and  deafened  by  the  flash  and  thun- 
der of  the  exploding  mine. 

The  earth  had  vomited  its  entrails  out,  a  mil- 
lion rocks  rioted  through  the  air  and  ricochetted 
off  the  parapet;  the  dawn  was  thick  with  flying 
rubbish,  the  greater  part  of  which  seemed  to  be 
falling  into  the  trench,  dropping  with  a  sickly 
splosh  into  the  muck.  The  world  was  falling 
down  around  the  ears  of  the  Irishman. 

**Out  and  man  the  mine  crater !" 

The  order  came  along  the  trench  like  a  half 
strangled  whisper.  Fitzgerald  rose  from  the 
muck  and  spluttered  the  message  along  to  the 
next  bay,  then  gripped  his  rifle  and  clambered  up 
and  across  the  parapet. 

Most  of  the  men  were  already  out  and  rushing 
towards  the  crater  of  the  mine.  Fitzgerald  had 
a  vivid  impression  of  flying  figures  in  sheepskin 
coats,  of  rifles  in  air,  of  bursting  shells,  of  men 
stumbling,  falling  and  rising,  of  hoarse-voiced 
oaths  and  imprecations,  of  queries  and  answers. 
"Not  our  mine,  is  it?''  "I  thought  we  were  too 
far  apart.''    '*Are  we  to  get  into  the  blurry  'ole 


Christmas  Day  97 

'fore  the  gas  clears  away?"  were  a  few  of  the  re- 
marks which  came  to  his  ears. 

A  corporal  halted  near  him  and  shouted  some- 
thing about  the  risk  the  men  were  running. 
''We'll  be  poisoned  by  the  fumes  in  the  crater/' 
he  said.  "We're  coming  across  too  soon.  Far 
too  soon,"  he  muttered;  "far  too  blurry  soon!" 

But  no  one  paid  any  heed.  To  stop  on  the 
open  was  dangerous,  and  the  Germans  were  out 
already.  They  could  be  seen,  dark  figures  break- 
ing through  the  enemy's  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments. Presently  they  would  be  engaged  with 
the  British  in  a  hand-to-hand  encounter  for  the 
possession  of  the  crater. 

Fitzgerald  reached  the  rim  of  the  hole  and 
stood  there  for  a  moment  looking  down.  Heavy 
coils  of  thick  smoke  wound  snake-like  along  the 
bottom,  where  the  black  earth  was  illumined  by 
ghastly  phosphorescent  lights  that  trailed  up  the 
sides  in  thin  sluggish  streaks.  A  few  soldiers 
were  already  going  down  into  the  place  and  halt- 
ing from  time  to  time,  taking  stock  of  the  scene 
before  them.  All  were  spluttering  and  coughing, 
and  a  few  had  pulled  their  gas  helmets  down  over 
their  heads  and  faces.  "This  is  no  blurry  bean- 
fast,  I  can  tell  yer,"  Spudhole  muttered  as  he 
tried  to  clamber  back,  crawling  with  difficulty  al- 


98  The  Brown  Brethren 

most  knee-deep  in  the  rubble.  As  he  moved  the 
clay  shot  away  from  beneath  him,  and  he  found 
himself  in  the  unenviable  plight  of  being  able  to 
advance  a  foot,  only  to  find  himself  slipping  back 
a  yard. 

The  enemy  shelled  with  unceasing  persistency, 
and  men  were  getting  struck  on  the  rim  of  the 
crater.  Anywhere  was  better  than  where  they 
were  standing — they  flopped  into  the  crater,  mak- 
ing futile  efforts  to  save  themselves,  from  roll- 
ing to  the  bottom,  by  clawing  at  the  clay  of  the 
sides.  Once  down,  however,  they  found  to  their 
relief  that  breathing  was  easier  than  they  had 
anticipated. 

"What  now?''  somebody  enquired,  looking 
vaguely  round. 

*  What  indeed?    What's  to  be  done  ?" 

''We'll  get  killed  like  blurry  rats  down  'ere 
....  The  Alleymongs  are  coming  over  in 
droves " 

'It's  better  to  fight  them  on  the  top  than  to 
let  them  stone  us  to  death  down  here." 

Sergeant  Snogger,  in  a  sheepskin  coat,  which 
was  freshly  ripped  across  the  shoulder  by  a  bul- 
let or  shell  splinter,  rolled  down  the  side  of  the 
crater  and  landed  at  the  bottom.  In  a  moment 
he  was  on  his  feet. 


Christmas  Day  99 

"Up  to  the  top,  boys !''  he  cried.  ''Don't  stand 
here  arguing  like  fishwives.  Up  to  the  top  or 
you'll  be  damned  unlucky." 

Immediately  the  men  were  crawling  up  like 
ants,  but  with  extreme  difficulty.  Their  heavy 
boots,  their  equipments  and  rifles  impeded  their 
movements,  each  man  was  a  khaki-clad  Sisyphus, 
battling  against  an  incline  such  as  the  patient 
Sisyphus  never  experienced.  The  men,  grunting 
and  swearing,  seemed  to  be  making  no  headway, 
the  scaling  of  the  crater  side,  about  sixty  feet  in 
depth,  was  a  Herculean  task  for  men  strong  of 
wind  and  limb,  for  them  it  was  a  task  of  despair. 

'We'll  never  get  there,"  Bubb  grunted.  Then 
his  eyes  sought  the  top.  "Gor'  blimey !"  he  mut- 
tered, "there  they  come." 

A  man,  dressed  in  German  uniform,  stood  on 
the  rim  of  the  crater,  a  rifle  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  down.  As  the  soldiers  watched,  he  raised 
his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  pointed  it  at  the  crush 
in  the  bottom  of  the  crater. 

The  movement  was  his  last.  Bowdy  Benners 
arrived  at  that  moment,  dressed  in  full  marching 
order,  his  rifle  in  his  hand  and  the  bayonet  fixed. 
The  "point"  was  delivered  at  the  shoulder,  and 
Benners'  long  arms  put  all  the  zest  of  a  strong 
body  into  the  movement.     The  German  came 


100  The  Brown  Brethren 

clean  over  the  rim  of  the  crater  and  rolled  down 
to  the  bottom,  clawing  at  the  air  with  frenzied 
fingers. 

Bowdy  lay  down  at  the  top,  and  his  rifle  became 
active.  Round  after  round  sped  across  the  open 
towards  the  foe,  who  were  now  coming  up  in 
bulk  and  getting  very  close  to  the  crater. 

"Keep  it  up,  Bowdy!"  cried  Snogger.  "Are 
they  near?" 

"They're  not  far  away/'  said  Bowdy  without 
looking  round.  "Devil  blow  me  blind,  they'll  be 
here  in  a  second  if  you  don't  come  up  and  give 
me  a  hand  ....  Ha!  They've  stopped  now, 
a  shell  has  caught  a  couple." 

"All  right,  Bowdy,  we're  here,"  the  sergeant 
shouted  reaching  the  summit. 

The  main  body  of  Germans,  advancing  in  open 
order,  was  still  some  fifty  yards  away.  As  far 
as  could  be  ascertained  at  the  moment,  the  delay 
(they  should  have  been  across  the  open  three  min- 
utes ago)  was  due  to  a  heavy  curtain  fire  which 
had  greeted  them  just  as  they  came  out  of  their 
trenches.  The  fire  caught  them  at  the  barbed 
wire  entanglements,  concussion  shells  tore  up 
the  wires  and  swept  them  around  the  bodies  of 
the  attackers,  and  the  impartial  shrapnel  rained 
viciously  down  on  the  huddled  heaps  of  wounded. 


Christmas  Day '''  ;  .;    j^P? 

The  quick  were  advancing;  a  dispirited 'par tj/^ 
of  men,  in  open  order,  glad  to  get  away  from 
their  own  trenches,  which  were  suffering  cruel 
chastisement.  Some  were  willing  to  fight  even 
yet ;  five  or  six  had  flung  themselves  down  on  the 
ground  and  trained  their  rifles  on  the  British  po- 
sitions, opening  a  wild  erratic  fire  of  slight  inten- 
sity. Cold  hands  never  hold  a  rifle  steady  on  a 
Christmas  morning. 

The  men  in  the  crater  lay  down  behind  the  par- 
apet which  the  exploding  mine  had  formed  and 
opened  fire  with  deadly  effect. 

''That'll  knock  the  blurry  stuffin'  out  o'  them," 
Spudhole  remarked.  ''There  they  come  now, 
their  'ands  up  in  the  air."  It  was  even  as  he  re- 
marked.  The  advanced  line  of  Germans  put  their 
timorous  hands  over  their  heads  and  stepped  diffi- 
dently towards  the  mine.  "Kamerad!  Kamer- 
ad!"  they  whined,  their  arms  shaking  as  if 
stricken  with  palsy.  The  snipers  threw  their 
rifles  away  and  joined  in  with  their  mates.  All 
were  sick  of  the  job. 

"Take  them  prisoners,"  said  Sergeant  Snog- 
ger.    "There's  nothing  else  to  be  done." 

An  hour  later  when  the  wounded  had  been 
carried  back  to  the  trench  and  the  prisoners  were 
marched  off  to  the  village  at  the  rear,  the  victors 


102  "the  Bi-own  Brethren 

were  left  to  themselves,  in  undisputed  possession 
of  their  hard-won  crater. 

The  Christmas  morning  scene  was  one  never  to 
be  forgotten:  the  rain-swept  crater,  the  crum- 
bling clay,  the  fumes  of  gunpowder,  the  dead  bod- 
ies, the  monotonous  hum  of  ragtime  choruses, 
the  shells  bursting  across  the  top,  the  dirty  rifles 
and  the  dirtier  men  who  endeavoured  to  clean 
them.  Bowdy  Benners  was  there  with  a  full  pack 
and  a  bulging  haversack.  Fitzgerald  and  Spud- 
hole  were  deep  in  a  discussion  on  some  nonsensi- 
cal subject;  but  the  discussion  served  its  object, 
it  brought  the  men's  minds  away  from  the  stark 
reality  of  their  surroundings.  Snogger  sitting  on 
his  haunches,  was  giving  details  of  the  fight  to 
his  platoon  commander.  Captain  Thorley. 

Bubb  drew  up  towards  Bowdy  and  asked  him 
for  a  drink  from  his  water-bottle.  Benners 
handed  it  to  him  with  a  solemn  look.  Spudhole 
drank. 

"Good?''  asked  Bowdy. 

^'Wonderful  stuff,"  said  Spudhole.    . 

"Hand  it  round,"  said  Bowdy. 

All  drank  from  the  water  bottle  in  turn,  and 
each  man  winked  knowingly  when  he  drank. 
None  of  the  men  had  expected  any  rum  that 
morning,  the  rations  of  the  night  before  had  been 


Christmas  Day  103 

so  short;  the  limbers  met  with  a  mishap  when 
coming  up  to  the  Valle  Dump.  Of  course,  all 
were  aware  that  Bowdy  had  come  into  possession 
of  the  rum  by  illegitimate  means.  However,  no 
enquiries  were  made. 

''Now  what  about  a  smoke  before  dinner?" 
Bubb  remarked,  fixing  a  knowing  glance  on 
Bowdy.  '''As  anybody  got  a  fag  to  spare? 
Many  a  pore  bloke  'as  'gone  West'  since  I  'ad 
my  last  fag." 

Fitzgerald  fumbled  about  in  his  haversack  and 
found  a  box,  a  little  tin  box,  lying  snug  and  dry 
amidst  a  crush  of  papers  and  broken  biscuits. 
Some  fifty  cigarettes  were  enclosed  within.  He 
handed  them  round. 

They  lit  them  up.  The  drink  and  the  smoke 
exercised  a  cheering  effect  upon  the  men.  A  look 
of  pleasure  stole  over  every  face  and  the  men 
burst  into  uncontrollable  fits  of  laughter  when 
Spudhole,  standing  on  a  platform  of  clay,  placed 
his  arms  akimbo  and  wished  all  a  merry  Christ- 
mas. "If  we  'ave  to  spend  the  day  'ere,  we  must 
spend  it  'ere,  we  must  stick  it  'ere,  and  there's 
no  more  to  be  said,"  he  laughed.  "We'll  get  re- 
lieved to-night,"  he  added;  "that's  if  we're 
lucky." 

"Suppose  we  build  a  dug-out  and  light  a  fire," 


104  The  Brown  Brethren 

said  Snogger.  ^'There's  'arf-a-dozen  poles  stand- 
in'  over  the  top;  we've  got  waterproof  sheets, 
trenchin'  tools  and  good  chalk  to  work  in." 

Drawing  their  tools  from  their  equipment,  the 
men  set  to  labour  with  zeal,  hollowed  out  a  shel- 
ter in  the  chalk,  roofed  it  over  and  lit  a  fire.  The 
latter  was  the  most  difficult  feat,  and  several  en- 
trenching tool  handles  had  to  be  cut  into  thin 
spales  and  placed  over  the  flames  before  the  fire 
burned  properly. 

"Devil  blow  me  blind  if  that's  not  very  clever," 
said  Bowdy  Benners  when  the  flames  were  danc- 
ing merrily  against  the  wall  of  the  dugout.  *lt 
almost  puts  me  in  mind  of  Christmas  away  in 
Blighty.  Now  we'll  see  what  we've  in  hand  for 
a  meal  for  our  Christmas  dinner.  I'll  look  in  my 
pack." 

He  openea  nis  pack  and  took  out  the  treasures, 
which  he  piled  against  the  wall  of  the  dug-out. 
The  pack  contained  three  large  loaves,  cut  into 
thick  chunks,  eight  tins  of  sardines,  a  tin  of  con- 
densed cafe-au-lait,  two  bottles  of  champagne 
and  several  slabs  of  Menier's  chocolate.  The 
bulging  haversack  was  another  treasure  wallet; 
it  contained  apples  and  pastry  in  abundance,  also 
a  tin  of  lard,  which  would  presently  be  used  for 
frying  bully  beef. 


Christmas  Day  105 

During  all  the  morning  the  artillery  fire  had 
not  wholly  slackened,  but  now  a  quiet  moment 
held  the  line.  Dinner  was  prepared.  First  the 
men  made  tea,  using  the  water  from  their  water- 
bottles  and  boiling  it  in  mess-tins  over  the  fire. 
Then  they  cooked  their  bully  beef  on  the  mess- 
tin  lids  and  cut  the  bread  into  nice  thin  slices. 
It  was  Fitzgerald  who  proposed  that  all  slices 
should  be  thin,  and  none  gainsaid  his  whim.  The 
first  course  consisted  of  sardines  and  bread;  the 
second  course  of  bread  and  fried  bully.  Tea  was 
served  with  every  course.  Followed  pastry  for 
dessert,  and  fruit  was  served  out  in  dainty  por- 
tions. They  brought  the  meal  to  an  end  by  drink- 
ing French  wine  and  English  rum,  and  lighting 
up  their  cigarettes. 

During  the  meal  the  platoon  commander  was 
deep  in  talk  with  Sergeant  Snogger  and  when  the 
Christmas  dinner  was  over  he  came  forward  and 
spoke  to  the  party. 

"My  boys,''  he  said,  ''this,  I  suppose,  is  the 
most  interesting  Christmas  youVe  ever  spent." 

Bubb:    ''Too  interestin'  for  me,  sir." 

Platoon  Commander:  "Yes,  I  suppose  it  is. 
But  I  hopt  that  neither  you  nor  any  of  us  will 
spend  Christmas  under  such  conditions  again. 
Such  things  must  be  at  times,  I  suppose,  and  see- 


io6  The  Brown  Brethren 

ing  that  it  came  to  our  turn,  I  must  admit  that 
we  did  as  well  as  any  platoon  in  the  British  Army. 
You  stuck  to  your  posts  like  bricks  and  reaped 
honours  from  a  fight  where  the  odds  were  very 
much  against  us.  Rifleman  Benners  at  a  critical 
moment  showed  great  resource  in  putting  one 
of  the  enemy  out  of  action.  For  this  we  must 
thank  him." 

Platoon:  "Hear,  hear.  Good  old  Bowdy!" 
etc. 

Platoon  Commander:  "I  haven't  much  fur- 
ther to  say  except  that  Tm  going  to  recommend 
Rifleman  Benners  for  the  D.C.M.  I  am  not  go- 
ing to  make  any  inquiries  as  to  where  he  spent 
last  night  and  the  early  hours  of  this  morning. 
As  all  you  men  assert  that  he  was  in  the  trenches 
ril  take  your  word  for  it !  Pm  not  going  to  in- 
quire where  the  champagne,  bread  and  other 
things  came  from,  but  if  I  may,  Pll  say  that  Pve 
never  in  all  my  life  enjoyed  a  meal  half  as  well 
as  I  enjoyed  my  Christmas  dinner  in  the  Loos 
Salient." 

That  night  the  Irish  were  relieved. 

A  month  later  the  D.C.M.  was  given  to  Bowdy 
Benners. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

BACK  TO   HIS  OWN 

We*re  ouf t  for  duration  now  and  do  not  care  a  cuss, 
There's  beer  to  spare  at  dinner  time  and  afters  now  for  us, 
But  if  our  buttys  still  were  out  in  Flanders  raising  Cain, 
We'd  weather  through  with  those  we  knew  on  bully  beef 
again — 

The  Old  Sweats! 
The  grub  it  was  skimp  with  the  Ole  Sweats, 
But  if  rations  was  small, 
'Twas  the  same  for  us  all, 
Same  for  the  'ole  of  the  Ole  Sweats. 

(From  "Soldier  Songs/*) 

THE  dark  night  clung  close  to  the  wet  lev- 
els of  No  Man's  Land,  and  a  breeze 
whimpered  across  the  grasses,  crooning 
wearily.  The  whole  world  seemed  tired ;  the  star- 
shells  rose  lazily  over  the  German  trenches, 
burned  drowsily  for  a  space,  and  fell  sluggishly 
to  earth.  The  light  failing,  the  circle  of  horizon 
grew  less,  and  objects  quite  close  at  hand  became 
hidden  from  view.  The  hour  was  about  ten,  and 
Bowdy  Benners  felt  tired  and  sleepy.  He  was 
sick  of  it  all — the  night  raids,  the  attacks,  and 
bombing  encounters.     His  mind  turned  to  home 

— quiet  London — the  jjeaceful  houses,  the  easy 

107 


io8  The  Brown  Brethren 

nights  of  untroubled  sleep,  afternoon  teas,  and 
the  hundred-and-one  comforts  of  civil  life  which 
were  so  far  removed  from  him  at  the  moment. 

"It  must  be  ten  now,"  he  muttered.  "I  sup- 
pose ril  get  relieved  presently." 

The  door  of  a  near  dug-out  opened,  and  the 
ray  of  a  candle  shone  out  into  the  trench.  One 
of  his  mates  came  out,  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  his 
waterproof  ground-sheet  over  his  shoulders. 

'Is  that  you,  Bubb?''  he  asked.  "Taking  a 
turn  as  sentry?'* 

"All  right,''  Bubb  answered.  "Thought  I 
wasn't  coming  out,  eh?  Are  you  fed  up?"  he 
asked. 

"A  bit  sick  of  it,"  said  Bowdy.  "I'm  tired  of 
looking  across  the  parapet  day  and  night.  How 
do  you  like  it  ?" 

"Rotten,"  said  Spudhole.  "The  weather  is  so 
damned  rotten !    Everything's  rotten." 

He  got  upon  the  firestep,  placed  his  rifle  against 
the  wall,  and  tied  his  waterproof  across  his  shoul- 
ders. 

"Old  Flanagan  is  back,"  said  Bubb,  as  Bowdy 
made  his  way  towards  the  dug-out.  "  'E  'as  come 
wiv  a  fresh  draft  o'  men." 

"Who?  Flanagan?  Where  is  he?"  Bowdy 
asked  in  one  mouthful. 


Back  to  His  Own  109 

**He's  in  the  dug-out,"  said  Bubb. 

Bowdy  rushed  in,  almost  trampling  on  the  face 
of  a  man  who  was  asleep  near  the  door.  Yes, 
Flanagan  was  there — handsome  Flanagan,  the 
gallant  youngster  with  a  college  education. 

He  was  an  Irish  boy  and  belonged  to  the  sec- 
tion at  St.  Alban's  in  the  old  days.  He  was  a  fine- 
looking  youth  of  medium  height,  with  heavy  dark 
hair,  an  intelligent  forehead,  impassioned  nos- 
trils and  an  air  of  aloofness  which  became  him 
well.  He  had  a  frank  and  open  expression,  pen- 
sive grey  eyes  and  high  cheekbones.  He  came 
from  the  West  of  Ireland  and  had  studied  for 
the  priesthood.  But  feeling  that  this  was  not  his 
vocation  he  entered  the  Civil  Service.  His  peo- 
ple belonged  to  an  old  Irish  family  full  of  pride 
and  poverty.  Flanagan,  though  well  educated, 
was  a  bit  of  a  rake  and  loved  the  bottle.  When 
excited  he  spoke  with  a  delicious  brogue  and 
paid  little  heed  to  his  grammar,  but  he  was  an 
omnivorous  reader  and  carried  a  number  of 
books  about  with  him  in  his  haversack.  Mon- 
taigne was  a  great  favourite  of  his.  He  had 
gone  home  badly  wounded  seven  months  earlier 
and  his  mates  never  expected  to  see  him  out  in 
France  again. 

He  was  now  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the  dug-out. 


no  The  Brown  Brethren 

his  handsome  face  radiant  with  joy  and  eager- 
ness, betraying  a  certain  boyish  innocence  which 
in  no  way  detracted  from  the  dignity  of  his  fea- 
tures. 

''You've  come  back  again,  Flan?''  Bowdy  said, 
and  gripped  him  by  the  hand. 

''Yes,  I'm  back  again,"  he  answered. 

"Glad  to  be  with  us?"  Bowdy  queried.  "Glad 
to  leave  London  and  come  out  here?" 

"Of  course  I  am,"  he  answered,  handing  Ben- 
ners  a  cigarette. 

The  confession  staggered  Benners,  but  in  a 
way  he  was  not  surprised.  Flanagan  was  a 
youngster  who  took  eagerly  to  the  life  of  war,  its 
romance  and  roving.  He  wanted  to  attempt 
everything;  nothing  was  too  big  for  him.  With 
him  it  was  no  sooner  see  than  try,  and  his  store  of 
enthusiasm  was  so  unbounded  that  he  generally 
succeeded  in  most  projects.  But  to  come  back 
again  when  his  wound  must  surely  have  been  a 
permanent  Blighty  one! 

"Why  have  you  come  back?"  Bowdy  asked. 
"Tell  me  all  about  it  while  I  rouse  the  brazier 
and  make  a  mess-tin  of  tea." 

"A  mess-tin  of  tea!"  he  exclaimed,  as  Bowdy 
bent  over  the  brazier.  "God,  it's  good  to  hear 
that,  old  man!    The  cups  are  so  small  at  home. 


Back  to  His  Own  iii 

Little  things.  But  a  mess-tin  full!  Heavens, 
things  are  done  on  such  a  big  scale  in  the  trenches ! 
One  gets  long  hours  of  fighting,  of  working,  of 
watching.  Everything  is  taken  in  big  mouth fuls 
here;  there's  nothing  petty  in  the  job.  But  at 
home — the  soft  beds — but  I  could  not  sleep;  the 
little  tea-cups — but  I  had  no  appetite;  the  po- 
liteness, the  swank,  the  fine  dresses — but  the 
whole  thing  made  me  ill.  We've  been  looking  on 
the  gods  here,  and  I  went  back  to  live  with  ordi- 
nary mortals — I  couldn't  stick  it !" 

''You're  a  big  fool.  Flan,"  said  Benners,  as  he 
fanned  the  brazier  with  a  week-old  copy  of  an 
English  paper.  ''I  would  like  to  get  home.  I'd 
be  in  no  hurry  .  .  .  ." 

''You  think  so,"  said  Flanagan,  "but  you'd 
soon  change  your  mind.  I  spent  two  months  in 
hospital,  then  I  was  sent  to  a  convalescent  camp. 
But  my  shoulder  wouldn't  mend ;  you  know  I  got 
it  in  the  shoulder.  I  couldn't  raise  my  arm ;  some- 
thing was  dislocated.  But  that  didn't  matter 
.  .  .  .  The  convalescent  camp  was  a  damned  nice 
place,  near  Brighton  and  beside  the  sea.  There 
was  an  old  sergeant-major,  a  rheumaticky  old 
fellow  who  talked  through  his  nose.  But  a  good 
fellow  all  the  same.  We  called  him  Nick  Nock. 
He  had  no  end  of  trouble  with  us,  the  Old  Sweats, 


112  The  Brown  Brethren 

and  he  was  always  on  the  look-out  for  me.  Got 
my  name  into  his  head  somehow,  and  maybe  I 
was  not  easy-going  enough  for  a  rheumaticky  old 
man.    He  must  have  been  about  sixty-five. 

"We  slept  in  huts.  Nick  Nock  would  come  to 
the  door  of  our  hut  in  the  early  morning.  'Are 
yer  all  in  bed  yet?'  he  would  shout.  (Flanagan 
gave  an  imitation  of  a  man  speaking  through  his 
nose) .  'Are  yer  never  goin'  to  get  up  ?  Where's 
Flanagan  ?' 

*'  'Close  the  door,  Nick  Nock,'  someone  would 
say.  'It's  too  blurry  cold.  Close  the  door,  will 
yer?" 

"  Til  not  close  the  door,'  the  old  man  would 
answer.  'I'll  get  every  man  of  you  out  o'  bed 
'fore  I  leave  'ere.  They're  up  in  all  the  huts  bar 
this'n.' 

"  'Oh !  Close  the  door,'  one  would  say,  rising 
up  in  bed  and  lighting  a  cigarette. 

"  'I'll  not  close  the  door,'  the  sergeant  would 
answer.  'Wot  I  want  to  know  is  this:  where's 
Flanagan  ?' 

"  'Dead,'  one  would  say.    'Gassed  in  the  knees.' 

"  '  'E's  'angin'  on  the  wires,'  from  another. 

"  '  'Is  bed  wasn't  slept  on  last  night,'  from  Nick 
Nock.  'When  I  see  'im,  'e'U  be  for  it.  And 
you'll  all  be  for  it  if  ye' re  not  out  o'  kip  when  I 


Back  to  His  Own  113 

come  back  'ere  in  ten  minutes  from  now.  Mind 
that/ 

"  'Close  the  door,  Nick  Nock/  the  hut  would 
shout,  as  the  sergeant  turned  to  go  out. 

"  'ril  not  shut  the  door.' 

"  Xeavin'  it  like  that  and  it  so  cold,'  all  would 
expostulate.    Tlease  shut  the  door/ 

''I'll  not  shut  the  door,'  from  Nick  Nock. 
'One  would  fink  that  the  whole  damn  caboosh  is 
out  on  a  Sunday  School  treat.' 

"Then  the  old  man  would  go  out,  closing  the 
door  behind  him.  Time  for  me  to  appear  then. 
I  would  come  out  from  under  the  table  where  I 
had  hidden.  I  had  been  out  all  night  and  just 
got  into  the  hut  before  Nick  Nock." 

"Was  Nick  Nock  ever  out  here?'  asked  Bowdy. 

"Sixty-five  and  rheumaticky,  what  could  he 
do?"  said  Flanagan.  "But  he  felt  it.  Once  he 
said  to  us,  'You  know,  boys,  I  feel  out  o'  place 
'ere.  You  fellows  'ave  been  out  an'  fightin',  and 
'ere  when  you  come  'ome,  I'm  bossin'  ye.  It's 
not  fair.' 

"Ah!  but  another  time  he  gave  us  a  lecture, 
and  this  was  how  he  began: — 

"  'Boys,  there  'as  been  great  changes  in  the 
harmy  of  late  years.  When  I  joined,  it  twasn't  as 
good  as  it  is  now,  but  after  I  came  things  im- 


114  The  Brown  Brethren 

proved,  and  at  the  present  day  a  man  cannot  do 
better  than  roll  up  an'  become  a  soldier/  '* 

"Damn  Nick  Nock,"  said  Bowdy  Benners. 
"Tell  me  something  about  yourself.  What  did 
you  do  after  you  left  the  convalescent  camp?'' 

"Well,  I  went  off  on  leave  from  the  convales- 
cent camp,  lost  my  pass,  and  forgot  when  I  had 
to  return.  I  came  back  seven  days  late.  Things 
took  a  turn;  Nick  Nock  reported  me  and  I  was 
taken  before  a  medical  board.  The  board  had  to 
determine  whether  I  was  in  a  fit  state  to  survive 
seven  days  in  jankers  or  not.  Three  or  four  old 
and  wise  men  pummelled  me,  sounded  me,  and 
did  a  lot  of  other  things.  Finally  they  discharged 
me  from  the  army.  God !  I  could  jump  over  the 
moon  with  joy.  I  bought  a  suit  of  civvies,  brown 
tweeds,  patent  leather  boots,  and  a  nice  white  col- 
lar, a  dainty  little  tie,  a  velours  hat.  I  was  quite 
a  swell.  Some  of  my  friends  live  in  London  and 
I  stopped  with  them.  They  were  going  to  help 
me,  get  me  a  bomb-proof  job  with  good  pay  and 
lazy  hours.  I  had  been  a  bit  of  a  rake  before  the 
war,  but  they  did  not  mind  that.  A  boy  must 
have  his  fling.  I  had  proved  myself  a  man  when 
the  country  called.  You  know  the  things  they 
would  say,  stock  phrases  that  are  worthy  of  an 
auctioneer.     I  liked  it  for  a  little,  Bowdy;  but 


Back  to  His  Own  115 

then,  the  small  teacups,  the  small  talk,  the  little 
tit-bits  of  scandal  .  .  .  ." 

Flanagan  got  to  his  feet,  stuck  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  and  looked  at  Bowdy. 

*1  used  to  lie  awake  at  night — the  beds  were 
so  damned  soft  and  uncomfortable — and  think 
of  the  nights  spent  out  in  the  trenches,  sitting  in 
a  snug  dug-out  with  the  rain  pattering  on  the 
roof,  or  through  it,"  Flanagan  went  on^  fixing  his 
gaze  at  the  candle.  ^'Again  my  thoughts  would 
run  on  the  long  night  marches  up  the  road,  with 
the  moonlight  on  the  cobbles,  and  the  big  poplars 
standing  upright  like  pompous  sergeant-majors, 
away  up  to  the  star-shells,  the  big  guns  and  the 
trenches.  I  thought  of  these  things  night  after 
night,  and  I  began  to  feel  afraid.  I  knew  that  it 
was  coming,  I  knew  that  I  would  leave  England 
and  come  out  to  France  again.  I  felt  stifled  at 
home;  everything  was  so  small  and  little.  God, 
the  tea  is  beginning  to  bubble  already! 

"Do  you  remember,  old  man,  that  night  when 
we  lay  in  the  orchard,  waiting  to  go  up  to  the 
trenches  to  attack?"  he  suddenly  asked,  thrusting 
his  face  almost  into  Bowdy's.  "Do  you  mind  the 
buses,  crowded  with  soldiers  carrying  rifles  at  all 
angles,  going  by  on  the  road,  the  star-shells  flar- 
ing up  in  the  sky,  and  the  bayonets  glittering? 


ii6  The  Brown  Brethren 

The  buses — going,  going  like  hell,  and  the  stars 
above  shining  through  the  apple  trees — ^the  trees 
were  in  blossom  then,  if  you  mind  ....  Don't 
you  remember  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  shall  never  forget  it,"  Bowdy  answered. 

"And  the  raids?"  he  questioned,  in  a  slow 
voice.  "Crawling  out  through  the  long  grasses 
with  the  poppies  flicking  you  in  the  face,  your 
nerves  tense,  not  knowing  what  the  next  moment 
would  bring.  I  thought  of  these  things  day  after 
day,  and  in  the  end  I  succumbed  to  the  old  lure. 

"  'Twas  a  difficult  job  getting  back  again. 
There  was  I,  dismissed  from  the  army,  and  no 
more  good  as  a  fighter;  my  shoulder  stiff  and 
sore;  my  discharge  papers  showing  that  I  was 
medically  unfit,  and  in  fact  a  thorough  wash-out. 
But  something  had  to  be  done.  'Twas  then  that 
I  met  old  Nick  Nock  again.  He  was  discharged, 
too — time-expired.  I  met  him,  I  grieve  to  state, 
in  a  pub.  I  stood  him  a  drink  and  told  him  my 
predicament.  He  thought  for  a  moment,  then 
he  said:  *Why  not  come  back  from  the  back  o' 
beyond,  a  sailor,  go  up  to  the  recruiting  station 
an'  call  yerself  Bill  Jackson  an'  get  taken  on 
again.  Don't  mention  a  word  about  yer  shoulder, 
an'  maybe  the  M.O.  won't  notice  it.    Gawd !    I'd 


Back  to  His  Own  117 

go  wiv  yer  meself,  Flanagan,  if  it  wasn't  fer 
those  damned  rheumatics.' 

"I  tried  the  dodge,  got  taken  on  as  Bill  Jack- 
son, who  was  at  one  time  A.B.  before  the  mast, 
and  now  Flanagan  is  dead  to  the  British  Army 
henceforward,  evermore." 

*'The  tea  is  about  ready,  Bill  Jackson,"  Bowdy 
said,  as  his  mate  sat  down  on  the  floor  between 
the  legs  of  a  man  who  was  sound  asleep  and 
breathing  heavily.  "If  you  care  to  wait  a  little, 
ril  fry  a  rasher  of  bacon.  Rations  are  pretty 
plump  to-night." 

''And  is  there  any  rum  going?"  Flanagan 
asked,  springing  to  his  feet  again.  He  was  too 
excited  to  remain  still.  "How  strange  that  I 
had  forgotten  to  ask  about  the  rum  rations  until 
now,"  he  muttered.  "I  suppose  there'll  be  a  tot 
after  a  little?" 

"It's  within  the  bounds  of  possibility,"  Bowdy 
remarked,  as  he  put  two  rashers  of  bacon  in  the 
mess-tin  lid  and  placed  the  lid  on  the  brazier. 
"But  we'll  see  to  that  later.  Necessities  before 
luxuries  out  here,  Bill  Jackson,"  he  added. 

The  bacon  was  ready  and  they  sat  down,  Flan- 
agan and  Bowdy,  and  commenced  to  eat.  Meals 
have  no  season  in  the  trenches,  but  they  are  al- 
ways welcome. 


Ii8  The  Brown  Brethren 

"God,  it's  good  to  be  back  here !"  said  Flana- 
gan. 'I've  never  been  so  happy  in  all  my  life! 
I  hope  the  war  won't  end  until  this  happiness  is 
worn  out." 

He  was  sincere  in  his  expressions,  and  his  mood 
almost  became  Bowdy's  before  the  meal  was  at 
an  end.  They  lay  back  when  they  had  eaten  and 
lit  cigarettes.  The  smoke  wreathed  upwards  to 
the  roof,  where  the  mice  was  scurrying  amidst 
the  rafters  under  the  sandbags.  The  soldiers 
were  still  asleep  on  the  floor,  their  bodies  curled 
up  in  queer  attitudes. 

"They  sleep  sound,"  said  Flanagan.  "Who 
is  that  snoring?    Is  it  old  Snogger  f^" 

"Snogger  it  is,"  said  Bowdy. 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Flanagan.  "I  knew  his 
snore.  I  couldn't  sleep  like  that  at  home — I'm 
very  glad  to  be  out  here  again.  It's  a  great  life, 
and  I  like  it  more  than  ever  before.  I  suppose 
I'll  get  tired  of  it  again,  after  a  while.  The  nov- 
elty will  wear  out  in  due  time,  I've  no  doubt. 
By  the  way,  have  you  Fitzgerald  with  you  yet  ?" 
he  asked. 

"He's  here,"  Bowdy  made  answer.  "He's  in 
love  with  a  French  girl  named  Fifi.  He's  very 
fond  of  her." 

"He's  in  love,  is  he?"  said  Flanagan.    "I  mind 


Back  to  His  Own  119 

him  at  St.  Albans ;  he  was  in  love  so  often.  But 
none  would  take  him  seriously,"  he  said.  ''Why, 
I  don't  know." 

Bubb,  the  sentry,  came  to  the  door. 

*''Oo's  next  on?"  he  yelled.  ''Sleepin'  there 
like  'ogs,  you  is.    Get  up  out 't !" 

"Leave  him  alone,"  said  Flanagan,  alluding 
to  the  soldier  whom  Bubb  was  endeavouring  to 
rouse  up.    'Til  do  his  turn." 

"Well,  blimey,  that's  a  strange  caper,"  said 
Bubb,  as  Flanagan  disappeared  through  the  door. 
"One  would  fink  'e  was  in  love  wiv  this  'ere  ca- 
boosh.  I  know  o'  one  squadder  that  ain't,  that's 
this  'ere  kid.  Well,  any'ow,  I'm  goin'  to  'ave  a 
kip." 

Bubb  and  Bowdy  lay  down  together  and 
dropped  off  to  sleep,  listening  to  the  patter  of  the 
rain  on  the  roof,  while  outside  on  the  firestep 
Flanagan  was  standing  on  guard,  humming  an 
old  Irish  song,  his  heart  filled  with  the  joy  of  a 
wanderer  who  has  returned  to  his  kind. 


CHAPTER  IX 


TRENCH   FEVER 


Now  out  in  the  trenches  you'll  find  to  your  cost 
That  the  slower  you  shuffle  the  sooner  you're  lost ; 
There  are  actions  done  better  the  quicker  they're  done, 
Like  getting  your  rations  or  bombing  a  Hun, 
Or  dodging  a  pip-squeak  or  catching  a  flea, — 
The  quicker  you  do  them  the  better  they  be. 

(From  "Trench  Wisdom") 

THE  Irish  were  back  in  the  trenches  again. 
It  was  night;  the  ground  was  covered 
with  snow,  and  Spudhole  who  did  not 
feel  well  was  glad  of  an  hour's  rest  in  a  dug-out. 

The  dug-out  belonged  at  one  time  to  ,the  Ger- 
mans. It  was  a  spacious  apartment  stretching 
out  into  unfathomable  corners.  The  dry  floor 
was  level  as  a  board  and  all  round  the  walls  snug 
little  crannies  were  scraped  out  in  the  clay.  Here 
were  stored  all  manner  of  odds  and  ends,  bully 
beef  tins,  loaves,  biscuits,  coils  of  barbed  wire, 
hand  grenades,  bandoliers,  water  jars,  tins  of 
jam,  candles  and  firewood. 

A  brazier  burned  on  the  floor,  the  smoke  curled 
upwards  and  was  sucked  out  through  a  hole  in 

120 


Trench  Fever  121 

the  roof  as  through  a  chimney.  A  dozen  men 
sat  around  the  fire,  their  sheepskin  jackets  steam- 
ing and  the  brass  buckles  of  their  equipment  shin- 
ing like  gold.  The  blaze,  burning  high,  lit  up 
the  steady  eyes  and  ruddied  the  strong  features 
of  the  men.  Spudhole,  half  asleep,  leant  forward 
over  his  knees,  his  arms  folded,  his  shoulders 
humped  up  and  his  helmet  well  down  over  his 
face.  Bowdy  Benners  was  writing  a  letter,  his 
notepaper  spread  out  on  Bubb's  back,  his  knees 
crossed.  An  old,  wrinkled  man  of  forty-eight, 
named  Bill  Hurd,  was  telling  how  his  own  son 
had  joined  the  Army  at  the  outbreak  of  war. 
Hurd  was  an  Irishman  and  had  worked  as  a  car- 
penter on  a  big  estate  in  Devon,  and  his  son  John 
had  a  job  in  his  father's  workshop. 

''  'Twas  two  days  after  war  was  declared,'' 
Bill  was  saying,  "and  I  was  down  in  the  kitchen 
waitin'  till  it  was  time  to  go  out  till  my  job.  I 
was  always  an  early  riser.  Upstairs  I  heard  John 
singin'  like  a  thrush.  What's  wrong  with  him?' 
I  says  till  myself,  for,  though  he  was  a  good,  wil- 
lin'  cub,  he  was  not  an  early  riser.  When  he 
came  down  I  says  till  him,  What's  up  wid  ye 
this  mornin'  ?'  I  says.  'I'm  goin'  till  jine  up,'  he 
says.  It  most  took  my  breath  away.  *But  ye're 
not  only  eighteen  come  the  end  of  next  week,'  I 


122  The  Brown  Brethren 

says  till  him.  ^But  I  can  be  nineteen  at  a  pinch/ 
he  answers,  and  what  was  to  be  said  to  that?  I 
ups  and  shakes  him  by  the  hand.  'Ye're  a  man, 
that's  what  ye  are/  I  says  till  him.  'And  where 
are  ye  goin'  to  jine  up  ?'  I  asks  him.  'In  the  town/ 
he  says,  meanin'  the  town  nearest  where  there 
was  a  recruitin'  station.  'Then  Til  go  'long  wid 
ye  an'  see  that  ye're  right  fitted  up,'  I  says  to  him. 
'I  must  go  out  an'  do  an  hour's  work,'  he  then 
says.  'When  I've  finished  that  I'll  be  ready  to 
go.'  'Right,  me  boy,'  I  says,  for  I  knew  that  he 
wanted  to  go  out  and  tell  the  other  men  what  he 
was  going  to  do. 

"So  we  goes  to  the  recruitin'  station  and  the 
corp'ral  there  runs  a  tape  over  John.  'Ye'll  do,' 
he  says.  'Ye'll  make  a  fine  sodger.'  So  we  went 
out,  me  an'  him,  and  I  goes  wid  him  to  the  near- 
est tobacco  shop.  'Now  think  of  what  ye're  go- 
in'  to  do,'  I  says  till  him.  'It's  not  an  easy  job, 
the  job  of  a  sodger.  Now  think,'  I  said,  'think, 
me  boy.'  He  looked  at  me  straight  in  the  face 
and  said,  as  if  he  was  offended:  'Ye  don't  think 
I've  done  wrong,  do  ye?'  Begorra,  there  and 
then,  I  just — and  there  were  a  lot  iv  people  look- 
in'  at  us — I  just  caught  him  be  the  hand  and 
squeezed  it.  'Ye're  a  man,'  I  says,  'an'  I'll  get 
ye  a  pipe  an'  tobacco.' 


Trench  Fever  123 

*'And  so  I  did,  and  would  ye  misdoubt  me  when 
I  say  that  he  was  as  handy  puttin'  a  match  to 
a  pipe  as  I  was  meself.  But  it's  not  easy  to  un- 
derstand young  cubs/' 

''When  did  you  join  up?''  asked  Snogger,  who 
came  into  the  dug-out  at  that  moment. 

'Xong  after  that,"  said  Billy.  "There  was  a 
young  fellow  on  the  estate,  the  son  of  me  mis- 
tress. A  fine,  hearty-lookin'  fellow,  a  rale  good 
lump  iv  a  cub  with  laughey  eyes  and  so  hand- 
some. He  was  a  great  friend  iv  mine.  Well,  he 
was  an  officer  in  the  regulars,  and  he  got  hit  in 
the  eyes  out  here  be  a  splinter  iv  a  shell  and  he 
was  knocked  stone  blind.  He  comes  home,  goes 
into  hospital,  and  was  there  for  long  enough,  but 
nothin'  could  be  done.  All  hope  was  lost;  he 
would  be  blind  for  life.  And  his  mother,  she  took 
it  as  calm  as  anything.  'Billy,'  she  used  to  say 
to  me,  'somebody  must  suflfer  and  it's  all  for  the 
country  when  all's  said  and  done.'  She  was  a 
brave  woman;  didn't  wear  her  heart  on  her 
sleeve.  I  never  saw  her  eyes  wet,  not  until  one 
day.  'Twas  when  her  boy  sent  a  wee  fretwork 
letter-rack  home  from  hospital  as  a  present  to 
his  mother.  He  had  made  it  himself,  blind  as 
he  was,  and  it  was  very  purty.  I  was  doin'  a 
bit  of  woodwork  in  the  hall  when  it  came  in  a 


124  The  Brown  Brethren 

parcel.  The  mother  opened  the  parcel  and  saw 
what  was  inside  ....  And  she  began  to  cry  as 
if  she  would  never  stop.  After  that,  when  any- 
body spoke  of  her  boy,  she  would  burst  out 
weepin'. 

'Well,  I  liked  the  boy,''  said  Billy.  "So  I 
thought  'twas  up  to  me  to  have  revinge  for  him 
on  the  Germans.  So  I  had  a  clean  shave  and 
went  to  the  recruitin'  office  and  signed  on  as  a 
man  of  thirty-nine." 

**Ye  should  have  had  more  sense,"  said  Bubb, 
getting  to  his  feet,  and  disappearing  into  a  cor- 
ner. No  doubt  the  boy,  who  was  not  feeling  well, 
wanted  to  snatch  an  hour's  sleep. 

Snogger  looked  at  the  men. 

"Six  of  you  for  rashun  fatigue,"  he  said. 
"Two  to  relieve  the  men  on  guard.  Whose  turn 
is  it?" 

"I'm  one,"  said  Bowdy. 

"Me  as  well,"  said  Billy  Hurd. 

"Pull  yourselves  together,  then,  and  git  out," 
said  Snogger.    "It's  two  minutes  past  time." 

Bowdy  and  Billy  got  to  their  feet,  buckled  their 
equipment  and  went  out  to  their  posts.  An  hour 
later  they  came  back.  Bowdy  shook  the  snow 
from  his  sheepskin  jacket  and  sat  down  on  the 
ground  beside  the  brazier. 


Trench  Fever  125 

"It's  a  very  cold  night  outside,"  he  said. 
''Freeze  the  horns  off  a  brass  monkey,  it  would. 
Where's  Spudhole?"  he  asked. 

"Wot's  wrong  now?  Wot  d'yer  want?"  asked 
a  feeble  voice,  as  Spudhole  peeped  out  from  a 
dark  corner  by  the  wall.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and 
buttoned  his  sheepskin  jacket  which  had  become 
loose. 

''How  are  you  feeling  now,  Spudhole?"  asked 
Benners. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right;  in  the  pink,"  said  Spud. 
"  'Ave  yer  a  drop  of  water  to  spare?" 

Bowdy  handed  a  water-bottle  to  Spud;  the 
youngster  raised  it  to  his  lips  and  drank  greedily. 

"Cold  water's  not  a  drink  for  a  night  like  this," 
said  Bowdy.  "What  you  want  is  something  hot. 
If  I  make  a  mess-tin  of  tea,  will  you  have  some?" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Bubb,  handing  the  bottle 
back. 

"I'm  goin'  to  'ave  another  kip  now,"  he  added. 
"Rouse  me  up  when  it's  my  turn  for  sentry-go." 

He  lay  back,  closed  his  eyes  and  felt  very  cold. 
At  intervals  he  shivered,  shaking  from  head  to 
foot.  Innumerable  currents  of  icy  air  seemed  to 
have  taken  up  their  abode  in  the  dug-out,  living, 
crafty  currents  as  cruel  as  enemies,  which  stole 
slyly  down  his  back  penetrating  between  flesh  and 


126  The  Brown  Brethren 

underclothing.  They  blew  on  the  back  of  his 
neck;  when  he  turned  round  he  encountered  them 
on  his  face,  they  stole  out  from  all  corners  in- 
cessantly chilling  him  with  their  treacherous, 
frozen  breath.  He  fell  asleep,  woke  up,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  that  a  swarm  of  ants  had  got  into 
his  throat  and  that  other  ants,  thousands  of  them, 
were  crawling  over  his  arms  and  legs. 

-  He  got  up,  shook  himself.  His  legs  felt  very 
weak,  his  head  was  spinning.  He  tottered  over 
to  the  fire.  Bowdy,  who  was  pouring  a  handful 
of  tea  into  the  boiling  water,  looked  up. 

'*Good  heavens,  Spudhole,  you  are  looking 
bad/' he  said.    "Feeling  cold  ?" 

"Cold's  not  the  word,"  Bubb  replied.  "I 
wouldn't  be  worse  off  'andcuffed  to  a  ghost. 
Wot's  the  time?"  he  asked. 

"Ten  to  eleven,"  said  Bowdy,  looking  at  his 
wrist  watch. 

"Just  'bout  my  time  for  sentry-go,"  said  Bubb 
in  a  weak  voice.  "I  s'pose  I'm  gettin'  trench 
fever  or  somefin',"  he  added. 

Bowdy  placed  a  spoonful  of  condensed  milk 
in  the  tea,  stirred  it  and  added  sugar. 

"This  will  warm  you  up,"  he  said,  filling  the 
mess-tin  lid  with  tea  and  handing  it  to  Bubb, 


Trench  Fever  127 

''Then  you  can  lie  down  agin  near  the  fire  and 
ril  do  your  turn  as  sentry/' 

Spudhole  had  the  lid  half  raised  to  his  lips. 
His  hand  shook,  the  tea  splashed  out  in  little 
drops  which  fell  on  the  brazier. 

''Bowdy !"  he  said,  in  a  slow  voice. 

"What  is  it?" 

"IVe  never  failed  at  my  work  yet,''  said  Spud- 
hole.  'Tm  not  'ere  in  the  trenches  to  shift  my 
jobs  on  to  other  blokes." 

''But  you're  feeling  queer,"  said  Bowdy.  "If 
I  felt  like  that  I  would  go  down  and  see  the  M.O. 
and  get  shoved  into  hospital." 

"Would  you !"  said  Spudhole,  placing  the  mess- 
tin  lid  on  the  floor.  "I  know  better.  Wot  did 
I  'ear  yer  say  once?  Ye'd  never  leave  your 
trenches  when  the  regiment  was  there  unless  you 
were  carried  out  on  a  stretcher." 

"That  was  only  swank,"  said  Bowdy.  "You 
drink  your  tea,  Spudhole,  and  lie  down.  I'll  put 
a  couple  of  sandbags  round  you  and  if  you're  not 
better  in  the  morning,  just  run  down  and  see  the 
M.O." 

"Well,  I'm  damned  if  I  goes  away  from  the 
line,"  said  Bubb.  "Not  until  the  battalion  is  wiv 
me.    That's  settled." 


128  The  Brown  Brethren 

He  bent  down,  raised  the  mess-tin  and  drank 
the  tea.    Snogger  came  to  the  door. 

*^Next  on  sentry-go?"  he  called. 

"I'm  there,"  said  Bowdy. 

'It's  my  turn,"  said  Bubb. 

"No  chewin'  the  fat,  or  some  of  ye'll  be  damned 
unlucky,"  said  Snogger.  "  'Ooever's  on's  on, 
that's  all ;  so  get  some  elbow  grease  on  and  'urry 
out.  Them  that's  on's  a  minute  and  'arf  over 
their  time  already." 

Spudhole  went  out,  crawled  up  on  the  firestep 
and  relieved  the  sentry.  Leaning  both  arms  on 
the  parapet,  he  looked  over  No  Man's  Land  to- 
wards the  German  trenches.  The  levels  in  front, 
a  shell-scarred  spread  of  ground  set  off  in  its 
ghastly  array  of  barbed  wire  entanglements,  was 
covered  with  snow.  Here  Nature  had  only  one 
mood,  a  mood  of  sulky  menace  which  overawed 
and  subdued  the  tempers  of  the  onlookers.  The 
sky  was  coldly  clear  and  a  million  stars  showed 
in  its  broad  expanse.  But  Bubb's  circle  of  hori- 
zon was  very  small,  objects  quite  near  at  hand 
stood  out  weirdly  silhouetted  with  a  blurred, 
though  definite  outline.  The  trenches  were 
wrapped  in  ghostly  solitude,  the  brazier  aflare 
in  the  dug-out  which  Bubb  had  just  left  added  no 
relieving  tint  to  the  blind  helplessness  of  the  night. 


Trench  Fever  129 

The  sick  boy  stood  back  from  the  parapet  and 
clapped  his  hands  together  in  an  endeavour  to 
warm  himself. 

''Gawd,  it's  cold  'ere,"  he  muttered.  '1  wish 
I  was  in  the  dug-out  'avin'  a  kip.  'Twould  be 
so  much  better  than  standin'  out  'ere.  But  I 
wouldn't  'ave  it,  naw,  not  at  any  price.  I  wouldn't 
shove  my  job  on  to  any  bloke.  Bowdy  would  do 
sentry-go  for  me,  good  old  Bowdy,  and  so  would 
old  Flan  if  'e  warn't  down  at  the  dump,  but  why 
should  they?  I  wouldn't  mind  lettin'  them  do  it 
if  it  was  out  o'  the  trenches." 

"How  are  you  getting  on.  Spud  ?"  asked  a  voice 
from  the  trench.    ''Feeling  the  cold?" 

The  boy  looked  down  at  Captain  Thorley.    The 
captain  and  he  were  great  friends. 
>    "Cold,"  said  Spud,  through  chattering  teeth. 
"It's  not  warm  'ere,  is  it,  sir?    I  feel  as  cold  as 
if  I  was  'andcuffed  to  a  ghost." 

"I  hear  that  you're  not  feeling  well,"  said  the 
captain. 

"I'm  orlright,  sir.  Was  a  bit  dicky  a  minute 
back,  but  the  cold  air  'asn't  'arf  bucked  me  up." 

"Well,  you  know  that  Bowdy  will  do  your  job 
for  you  if  you're  feeling  queer,"  said  Thorley. 

"I  know  that,  sir,  but  I'm  orlright,"  said  Bubb. 
"Besides,  I  wouldn't  rob  a  man  of  'is  sleep." 


130  The  Brown  Brethren 

Bubb  finished  his  hour,  but  when  his  next  turn 
as  sentry  came  round  he  was  unable  to  perform 
his  duty.    He  looked  helplessly  at  his  mate. 

*'Bowdy,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  apologetic  voice. 
'Tve  no  guts  for  anuvver  hour's  sentry-go.  Tm 
washed  out.  I  will  go  down  to  the  M.O.  not  to- 
morrow mornin'  but  now.  If  I  stay  'ere  any 
longer.  Til  'ave  to  be  carried  out  o't.  But  didn't 
I  stick  it  to  the  last,  Bowdy  ?" 

"Of  course,  you  did.  I'm  damned  if  I'd  stick 
it  so  long." 

**Clear  out  of  it  at  once,  Spudhole,"  said  Billy 
Hurd.  "Ye're  like  a  ghost,  somethin'  like  what 
a  cat  would  take  in  on  a  wet  day." 

*'Ye  think  I'm  sick  enough  to  leave  'ere  then?" 
asked  Bubb.  "I  don't  want  any  o'  the  fellers  to 
say,  arter  I  go,  that  I  was  swingin'  the  lead." 

'If  ye  stop  'ere  any  longer,  they'll  say  that  ye're 
stayin'  here,  hopin'  that  ye'll  be  so  bad  when  ye 
leave  that  ye'll  never  be  sent  back  again." 

"Then  I'm  off  out't,"  said  Bubb,  decision  in 
his  voice.    "I'll  try  and  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can." 

He  went  outside  and  made  his  way  to  the  dress- 
ing station.  Dawn  found  him  snug  in  a  motor 
ambulance  on  his  way  to  hospital. 


CHAPTER  X 

LOST  TO  THE   WIDE 

There's  a  rum  jar  in  the  dug-out  and  a  parcel  in  the  post — 

Fol  ol  the  diddle  ol  the  dee ! 
And   I   couldn't  be   much   colder  were   I   handcuffed  to  a 
ghost — 

Fol  ol  the  diddle  ol  the  dee ! 
There's    a    quartermaster-sergeant    and    the    dug-out's    his 
abode — 

Fol  ol  the  diddle  ol  the  dee ! 
And  a  shell  has  hit  the  mail-bag  and  it's  scattered  on  the 
road — 

Fol  ol  the  diddle  ol  the  dee ! 

(From  "The  Strafed  Mail-bag") 

IT  was  past  eight  o'clock  of  a  January  evening 
and  the  soldiers  in  "Home  Sweet  Home'' 
dug-out  sat  down  late  to  tea.  The  dug-out 
was  situated  at  the  bottom  of  a  chalk-pit  near 
Vimy  Ridge  and  was  occupied  by  officers'  ser- 
vants, company  runners,  signallers  and  others 
who  generally  kept  in  close  touch  with  battalion 
headquarters.  The  chalk  pit  was  more  or  less 
immune  from  shell  fire,  for,  being  narrow  and 
deep,  it  was  difficult  for  a  shell  to  reach  the  bot- 
tom, round  which  a  ring  of  spacious  dug-outs 
circled.     Over  the  top  and  five  hundred  yards 

131 


132  The  Brown  Brethren 

eastwards  ran  the  communication  trench  which 
wound  its  way  discreetly  up  to  the  British  front 
line. 

Lights  gleamed  in  the  dug-outs  and  sounds  of 
laughter  and  singing  could  be  heard  from  "Home 
Sweet  Home."  It  was  a  capacious  shelter,  origi- 
nally fashioned  by  the  French,  and  capable  of 
holding  thirty  men.  At  the  present  moment  it 
contained  some  fifteen  British  soldiers  engaged 
in  the  pleasant  task  of  eating  a  substantial  meal. 
Rations  as  well  as  the  post  had  just  come  up  from 
the  railhead,  rum  was  issued,  and  the  parcels  from 
home  had  been  bulky.  The  meal  was  proceeding 
merrily.  Some  of  the  men  were  laughing  and 
chatting,  sitting  on  the  ground,  their  knees 
crossed  and  mess-tins  of  steaming  tea  in  their 
hands.  Two  or  three  were  stripped  and  their  wet 
clothes  were  hung  over  the  fire  in  the  brazier. 
All  were  so  cool  and  happy  that  it  was  difficult 
to  believe  that  the  German  shells  were  just  drop- 
ping outside  the  door.  .  .  .  Suddenly  the  water- 
proof sheet  that  covered  the  door  was  raised  and 
a  newcomer  entered.  He  stood  for  a  moment 
looking  round,  then  he  approached  an  up-ended 
ammunition  box  which  stood  in  the  centre  of  the 
dug-out  and  sat  down  on  it. 

''Oh,  it's  old  Fitzgerald,"  exclaimed  Flana- 


Lost  to  the  Wide  133 

gan,  now  of  the  signalling  section,  who  was  en- 
deavouring, with  the  aid  of  a  bayonet,  to  draw 
the  cork  from  a  rum  jar.  ''How  are  things  go- 
ing on  up  at  Vimy  ?''  he  asked. 

''Not  so  bad,''  Fitzgerald  answered.  "There's 
plenty  of  shells  flying  across,  and  now  and  again 
we  get  a  Minnie,  saucy  devil.  We  do  get  more 
than  is  good  for  our  health.  Vimy  is  not  the 
most  pleasant  place  on  our  front.  IVe  helped 
to  take  a  prisoner  down.'' 

"A  prisoner?"  Flanagan  exclaimed,  handing 
Fitzgerald  a  drop  of  rum  in  a  mess-tin.  "A  Ger- 
man?" 

"Yes,  a  youngster,"  Fitzgerald  answered,  lift- 
ing the  rum  reverently  to  his  lips  and  rolling  it 
round  in  his  mouth.  "He  was  caught  on  a  listen- 
ing patrol.  Wounded  and  unconscious.  I've 
got  to  wait  here  until  he  recovers,  hear  what  he 
has  to  say,  and  report  back  to  Captain  Thorley 
with  any  information.  You  know  we  fear  a  mine 
going  up  at  the  sap,  for  all  day  and  night  we  can 
hear  tapping  under  the  ground." 

Fitzgerald  held  out  his  mess-tin  again  and  re- 
ceived another  tot  of  rum.  Then  he  lit  a  cigar- 
ette. 

"There's  nothing  like  a  drop  of  rum,"  he  re- 


134  The  Brown  Brethren 

marked.  "It's  'health  to  the  navel  and  marrow 
to  the  bones,'  as  the  Scripture  has  it." 

The  hut  laughed. 

'What  about  a  song,  Fitz?"  Flanagan  asked. 

"An  old  Irish  one;  a  come-all-you." 

"Nell  Flaherty's  Drake?"  said  Fitz  in  a  tone 
of  enquiry.  The  rum  had  put  him  in  gay  good 
humour. 

"Spit  it  out,"  Flanagan  yelled. 

Fitzgerald  commenced  the  song. 

"My  name  it  is  Nell,  the  truth  for  to  tell, 
I  live  near  Coothill,  which  I'll  never  deny, 
I  had  a  fine  drake,  the  truth  for  to  spake, 
Which  my  grandmother  left  me  before  she  did  die. 

"He  was  wholesome  and  sound  and  could  weigh  forty  pound. 
The  wide  world  round  I  would  roam  for  his  sake. 
But  bad  luck  to  the  robber  be  he  drunk  or  sober. 
Who  murdered  Nell  Flaherty's  beautiful  drake. 

"May  his  temples  wear  horns  and  all  his  toes  corns, 
May  he  always  be  fed  on  lobcourse  and  fish-oil. 
May  he  ne'er_go  to  bed  till  the  moment  he's  dead, 
May  his  cow  never  milk,  may  his  kettle  never  boil." 

"That's  the  supreme  curse,  I  think,"  Fitzger- 
ald remarked,  smiling  lazily.  "  'May  his  kettle 
never  boil'!  Think  of  that — in  Ireland,  where 
the  teapot's  as  greedy  as  the  grave." 

"Is  that  the  end  of  the  song?"  a  soldier  asked 
from  the  corner. 


Lost  to  the  Wide  135 

"Only  the  first  three  verses,"  Fitzgerald  re- 
plied. ''There  are  forty  verses  in  the  song,  but 
I  forget  the  rest.  My  memory!"  he  exclaimed, 
rising  to  his  feet.  ''Good  God!  I  forget  every- 
thing, my  memory  is  my  curse  ....  Who  has 
got  a  cigarette  to  spare  ?" 

At  that  moment  an  orderly  came  to  the  door 
and  shouted  out:     "D  Company  runner." 

"I'm  D  Company  runner,"  Fitzgerald  re- 
marked. 

"Report  to  headquarters  immediately,"  said  the 
orderly.  "Also  Rifleman  Flanagan  to  report. 
Two  men  must  take  the  message." 

"I'm  there,"  said  Fitzgerald,  turning  to  Flana- 
gan and  asking:  "Can  I  have  another  cigarette 
before  we  go?" 

He  got  another  cigarette,  placed  it  in  his  cap 
and  accompanied  by  Flanagan  went  out  into  the 
open  and  across  to  headquarters  dug-out.  The 
adjutant  was  inside  sitting  at  a  table,  a  cup  of 
tea  and  a  box  of  cigarettes  in  front  of  him.  He 
knew  Fitzgerald  very  well,  having  met  him  in 
civil  life. 

"I  want  you  to  go  to  the  Ridge  as  quickly  as 
you  know  how,"  said  the  adjutant,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  runner.  "The  young  German  has  re- 
gained consciousness  and  he  tells  us  that  the 


136  The  Brown  Brethren 

enemy  are  going  to  blow  up  three  mines  under 
our  front  to-morrow  morning  at  six.  The  men  ^ 
must  withdraw  to  the  second  trench  until  further 
orders.  I've  tried  to  'phone  up,  but  can  get  no  i 
answer  to  my  calls.  The  wire  must  be  broken. 
Hand  the  message  over  to  Captain  Thorley  or 
any  other  officer  whom  you  may  encounter.  You 
do  the  same,  Flanagan,  and  both  report  back  here 
when  you've  done  this  .  .  .  ." 

He  handed  a  sealed  envelope  to  Fitzgerald  and 
the  runner  went  out  into  the  night,  the  final  words 
of  the  adjutant  ringing  in  his  ears. 

''Very  important,  remember ;  very  important." 

Fitzgerald  clambered  up  the  side  of  the  pit  with 
difficulty,  the  chalk  was  frittering  away  and  the 
man  had  very  insecure  purchase  of  his  feet. 
Flanagan  followed  keeping  a  hundred  yards  to 
rear.  At  headquarters  another  runner  was  re- 
ceiving a. similar  message.  One  would  certainly 
deliver  it  safely. 

When  Fitzgerald  crossed  the  rim  of  the  chalk 
pit  he  could  see  the  line  of  battle,  the  starshells 
flaring  in  the  heavens  and  the  lurid  flames  of 
bursting  explosives  lighting  up  the  darkness.  In 
front  a  spinney  where  the  trees  were  riven  and 
shattered  took  on  strange  shapes,  the  lifeless 
ruined  branches  stretched  outwards,  as  it  were, 


Lost  to  the  Wide  137 

in  reproach  and  despair;  the  fallen  trees  lay  on 
the  ground  Hke  rotting  corpses. 

War's  earthquake  had  rent  the  whole  country. 
Dark,  sepulchral  chasms  yawned  in  the  ground 
and  the  whole  earth  seemed  to  have  been  gutted  to 
its  core.  A  little  red-brick  cottage  was  smashed 
to  smithereens;  the  machinery  of  a  mill  stood 
suspended  over  nothing,  and  shapeless  walls, 
jagged  and  lacerated,  quivered  in  air,  ready  to 
fall  at  the  first  gust  of  wind.  Where  the  pits  were 
dug  in  the  earth,  shapeless  heaps  of  white  chalk 
were  flung  up,  and  beside  one  of  these  heaps  lay 
a  battery  of  field  guns  jumbled  in  inextricable 
confusion.  The  rusty  steel  muzzles  of  the  guns 
looked  grotesque  and  distorted;  the  ruined  dug- 
out in  which  the  gunners  once  lived,  breathed 
tragedy  from  every  broken  beam  and  torn  sand- 
bag. Dead  men  lay  all  over  the  place,  shame- 
lessly exposed  in  the  most  unlikely  situations. 
On  the  field  of  war  Death  is  denied  its  privileged 
privacy. 

Fitzgerald  entered  the  communication  trench 
and  hurried  along,  panting  as  he  ran.  Two  shells 
swooped  over  his  head,  bursting  with  a  vicious 
clatter  on  the  field  behind  him.  Others  followed, 
pounding  at  the  parapet  like  drunken  gods.  He 
could  hear  the  splinters  hitting  the  parados  with  a 


138  The  Brown  Brethren 

dull  thud  to  the  accompaniment  of  a  thousand 
rifle  bullets  which  tore  at  the  suffering  sandbags. 

Fitzgerald  passed  through  one  trench  crossing, 
then  another.  "I'll  do  it  in  five  minutes  now," 
he  said,  changing  his  rifle  from  one  shoulder  to 
the  other.  *'I  hope  the  mine  doesn't  go  up  be- 
fore I  get  there.  Five  minutes,"  he  muttered, 
'I'll  be  there  in  five  minutes." 

But  Fitzgerald  miscalculated.  At  the  end  of 
five  minutes  he  found  himself  in  a  deserted 
trench,  all  alone,  and  then  decided  that  it  was 
time  to  turn  back.  Probably  he  had  taken  the 
wrong  trench  at  the  last  crossing.  He  went  back 
for  a  short  distance  and  came  to  a  junction.  Sev- 
eral trenches  crossed  at  this  point,  but  the  local- 
ity seemed  new  to  him.  He  had  not  been  there 
before. 

"Well,  I'm  damned,"  he  said,  and  then  add- 
ed, "I'm  lost  as  well."  He  realised  the  danger 
of  his  plight  and  felt  uncomfortable.  Stories 
were  often  told  over  braziers  in  the  dim  trench 
traverse,  and  many  of  these  stories  spoke  of  men 
who  went  astray  in  the  trenches  and  never  re- 
turned. Sometimes  the  lost  soldiers  found  them- 
selves in  the  enemy's  lines,  and  on  other  occasions 
they  wandered  up  to  their  home  parapets  to  fall  a 
victim  to  the  rifle  of  a  nervous  sentry.    Fitzger- 


Lost  to  the  Wide  139 

aid  had  heard  many  of  these  stories  and  he  recol- 
lected them  now. 

Much  fighting  had  recently  taken  place  on 
Vimy  Ridge  and  the  English  and  German 
trenches  criss-crossed  in  several  localities;  in 
some  places  both  parties  occupied  the  same 
trenches. 

Fitzgerald,  alone  and  astray,  had  no  definite 
idea  of  his  position;  he  only  knew  that  he  was 
lost  at  the  cross-trenches  and  did  not  know  which 
trench  led  to  safety.  Perhaps  he  had  passed  be- 
yond the  British  front.  He  peered  over  the  top. 
The  night  was  quiet,  scarcely  a  ritle  spoke,  though 
many  star  shells  were  ablaze  in  the  heavens  and 
dropping  petals  of  flame  to  the  dark  earth  .... 
Right  in  front  of  Fitzgerald  was  a  ghastly  heap, 
jumbled  and  confused,  a  heap  of  dead  men.  And 
round  this  heap  lay  other  dead  things,  rejected 
from  the  more  composite  and  bulky  distortion  of 
war.  The  solitary  figures  lay — some  face  down- 
wards, arms  spread  out,  others  curled  up  like 
sleeping  dogs. 

'Well,  where  am  I?"  asked  Fitzgerald. 
'Whose  starshell  is  that,  ours  or  theirs?  .... 
Where's  our  line?" 

He  looked  at  a  dead  thing  near  him  and  shud- 


140  The  Brown  Brethren 

dered.  Then,  shouldering  his  rifle,  he  made  his 
way  up  the  trench  on  his  right. 

''This  is  all  right!''  he  muttered,  passing  a 
projecting  beam  of  a  fallen  dug-out.  "I  passed 
this  a  minute  ago  ....  but  not  this." 

He  detached  himself  awkwardly  from  the  heap 
of  limp  bodies  into  which  he  had  fallen  and  hur- 
riedly retraced  his  steps  to  the  junction  where 
the  dark  trenches  opened  up  to  unknown  mys- 
teries. 

Fitzgerald  leant  wearily  against  the  wall  and 
puzzled  over  many  things. 

'If  I  go  over  the  top,  what  happens?"  he  asked 
himself.  "Run  into  a  German  patrol,  maybe, 
or  into  one  of  our  gwn  covering  parties  and  they'll 
shoot  me  on  sight.  If  I  go  along  a  trench,  I'll 
probably  get  into  the.  German  lines.  That  won't 
do,  either.  I'm  like  a  rat  in  a  trap  ....  But  I 
must  get  out  of  it.  Yes,  I  must  get  out  of  it 
.  .  .  .  But  how?" 

The  question  caused  a  queer  sensation  to  run 
down  the  innermost  parts  of  his  body  and  the 
sensation  was  one  of  fear.  He  mumbled  many 
things  to  himself  in  a  thick,  quick  undertone. 
Then,  without  realising  the  risks  he  ran,  Fitz- 
gerald crawled  over  the  parapet  and  went  out  into 
the  open,  taking  his  rifle  with  him. 


Lost  to  the  Wide  141 

It  was  a  man  lying  face  downwards  on  the 
ground  that  attracted  his  attention  first.  He 
could  have  sworn  that  the  man  moved  and 
brought  a  rifle  to  bear  upon  him.  Fitzgerald 
stood  upright  and  fired  at  the  man  twice,  only 
to  find  that  he  was  riddling  a  corpse  with  bullets. 
He  flung  himself  flat  to  avoid  the  machine  gun 
that  opened  fire  and  waited  till  it  ceased  its  play. 
A  galaxy  of  starshells  lit  up  the  heavens  and  a 
big  shell  of  another  pattern  whirled  across  the 
open  and  burst  with  a  dizzy  clatter.  In  the  dis- 
tance could  be  heard  the  transports  of  war  clat- 
tering along  the  roads,  the  clank  of  rails  un- 
leaded at  some  far-oflf  railway  siding,  and  gleam- 
ing luridly  against  the  darkness  could  be  seen 
the  flames  of  a  building  on  fire  some  dozen  miles 
away.  Near  Fitzgerald  lay  a  dead  man,  further 
ofif  another,  looking  like  an  empty  sack  flung  on 
the  ground. 

The  maxim  fire  stammered  into  silence  and  the 
youth  got  to  his  feet,  looked  round  and  listened 
with  strained  ears.  Somewhere  near  he  could 
hear  the  sound  of  hammers  and  the  creaking  of 
shovels  and  he  concluded  that  a  working  party 
was  busy  at  its  toil.  It  was  impossible  to  deter- 
mine to  what  side  the  party  belonged.  It  might 
be  German.    The  lines  of  trenches  were  very  con- 


142  The  Brown  Brethren 

fused  and  salients  projected  out  like  ducks'  bills 
in  places,  and  at  other  points  they  receded  some 
five  hundred  yards  from  the  opposite  front.  No 
man  was  ever  more  solitary  than  poor,  mud- 
stained  Rifleman  Fitzgerald  at  that  moment. 

And  the  night  was  full  of  mysterious  whispers, 
sounds,  creakings  and  rustlings.  Spirits  seemed 
to  lurk  on  the  vacant  face  of  the  earth  and  un- 
canny spirits  hovered  over  the  world.  In  the 
near  distance  all  objects  took  on  strange,  unde- 
fined shapes,  well  in  keeping  with  the  grotesque 
fantasy  of  war  ....  Suddenly  Fitzgerald  fan- 
cied that  he  heard  somewhere  near  him  the  sharp 
snap  of  a  rifle  bolt.  He  turned  round  and  scur- 
ried back  to  the  trench  which  he  had  just  left.  It 
seemed  quite  a  distance  to  traverse  and  he  slipped 
over  the  parapet  and  flopped  down  into  the  mud. 
But  not  a  soul  was  to  be  seen,  the  trench  was  de- 
serted. Neither  was  it  the  trench  which  he  had 
left.  Here  the  slush  reached  his  hips.  *'Well, 
Fm  damned !"  he  said,  and  leant  against  the  para- 
pet. "What  am  I  going  to  do?  Vm  going  to 
stick  here,  stick  well  in." 

Shadow  and  silence  brooded  over  the  place,  he 
had  descended  into  the  stagnation  of  the  tomb. 
The  clammy  slush  ran  down  his  top  boots  and 
settled  round  his  heels.    He  advanced  one  step, 


Lost  to  the  Wide  143 

then  another,  touching  toth  walls  of  the  alley 
with  his  outstretched  hands.  He  looked  up  and 
saw  that  the  walls  were  very  steep.  It  was  im- 
possible to  climb  up;  the  clay  was  too  soft,  it 
came  away  in  the  hands,  and  his  feet  were  so 
weighty.  Besides  now  he  was  sticking.  Every 
time  he  moved  the  mud  gripped  him  with  greater 
vehemence.  It  seemed  as  if  his  feet  were  slip- 
ping down  the  throat  of  a  voracious  monster 
which  was  endeavouring  to  swallow  him.  The 
floor  of  the  trench  was  a  treacherous  quicksand, 
as  greedy  as  the  grave.  For  a  moment,  Fitz- 
gerald fought  madly  against  the  embrace  of  this 
soft,  elusive  terror,  he  gripped  at  the  walls,  the 
mud  came  away  in  his  hands,  he  pulled  one  foot 
out,  the  other  sank  deeper.  To  move  was 
ghastly,  to  remain  still  was  deadly. 

'1  must  move,"  he  muttered.  "If  I  don't  I'll 
die;  if  I  make  a  struggle,  my  fate  will  rest  on  the 
knees  of  the  gods  and  they  may  save  me.'' 

The  mud  was  reaching  his  waist.  To  pull  out 
one  leg  he  had  to  reach  forward  until  his  face 
touched  the  mucky  floor,  raise  his  hind  foot  clear, 
bring  it  round  with  a  circular  motion  and  place 
it  down  in  the  slush  again.  The  same  operation 
had  to  be  performed  at  each  remove.  Once,  he 
placed  his  hands  in  the  muck  and  tried  to  crawl. 


144  The  Brown  Brethren 

But  the  effort  was  futile;  his  hands  sunk  in  to 
the  shoulder  and  the  earth  rose  greedily,  as  if 
wanting  to  clutch  him. 

Fitzgerald  came  to  a  halt  and  looked  hopeless- 
ly round.  Nothing  was  to  be  seen  but  the  dark- 
ness ;  the  night  was  a  cavern  in  which  he  had  got 
lost.  He  gripped  at  the  wall  of  the  trench  with 
furious  fingers  and  part  of  the  parapet  came  away 
in  his  hands,  almost  burying  him. 

"It's  no  good.  Tm  going  to  peg  out  here,"  he 
said,  as  he  tried  to  shake  himself  clear.  "If  I  only 
had  a  starshell  over  my  head  Td  look  for  a  spot 
to  die.  I  would  select  a  better  spot  than  this,  any- 
way, if  I  had  choice.  But  they've  stopped  send- 
ing up  starshells  now  ....  And  I  should  have 
a  parcel  by  the  post  to-night,"  he  muttered.  "And 
another  drop  of  rum  will  be  going  round  now  I 
think  ....  But  is  that  all  I've  to  think 
about?  .  .  .  ." 

He  shouted  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  but  there 
was  no  reply.  He  yelled  again  and  then  became 
silent.  "What's  the  good  of  it?"  he  asked  him- 
self in  a  whisper.  "I  don't  know  where  I  am. 
Maybe  I'm  near  the  German  trenches.  If  they 
find  me  here  what  will  they  do?  Tread  me  in, 
probably  ....  And  the  mine,  what  about  it? 
I've  still  got  the  message  in  my  pocket.    I  wish 


Lost  to  the  Wide  145 

this  had  happened  after  I  had  delivered  the  thing/ 
But  FU  go  on  a  bit.    Til  get  to  somewhere." 

He  moved  forward.  The  first  step  was  diffi- 
cult, the  next  was  easier,  the  subsoil  had  lost  its 
birdlime  tenacity  and  the  slush  was  not  as  dense. 
A  few  steps  further  and  Fitzgerald  breathed. 
He  was  going  up  an  incline,  getting  out  of  it  his 
head  was  almost  parallel  with  the  rim  of  the 
trench.    He  burst  into  song: 

"Four  stick  standers, 
Four  lilly  wanders, 
A  hooker 
And  a  crooker 
And  a  swing  about. 
Three  sheep  sharahan. 
Owned  by  Eamon  Garahan, 
A  ribag 
And  a  thonag 
And  a  coat  of  bawnagh  brockagh." 

The  song  suddenly  stopped.  A  heavy  shell 
swept  over  his  head  and  burst  very  near.  An- 
other followed  and  another  and  Fitzgerald  no- 
ticed that  he  had  reached  a  junction  where  a  num- 
ber of  trenches  criss-crossed. 

''Another  damned  labyrinth,''  he  muttered. 
"Out  you  get,  on  to  the  top.  Rifleman  Fitzgerald," 
he  ordered,  apostrophising  himself.  And  out  he 
did  get.    It  was  now  he  discovered  that  his  rifle 


146  The  Brown  Brethren 

had  vanishecj.  ''Oh,  I  suppose  it's  in  the  mud/' 
he  muttered.    ''Lucky  Tm  not." 

A  trench  showed  some  distance  away.  He 
made  for  it,  slipped  over  the  parapet  and  landed 
on  something  soft  which  moved. 

''Gawd  Orlmighty!     Wot  the  are  yer 

up  ter,''  said  a  soldier,  rising  from  the  mud. 

''They're  shelling  us,''  said  Fitzgerald. 
"You'd  better  rouse  up.     What  trench  is  this?" 

"The  support,"  said  the  man.  "We're  waitin' 
for  a  mine  to  go  up  or  somefing." 

The  rest  of  the  men  were  standing  at  their 
posts,  alert  and  ready.  The  enemy  had  become 
nasty  and  were  using  an  exceptionally  heavy 
shell  on  the  sector,  but  as  yet  it  was  bursting 
wide. 

"A  nine-point-two,"  somebody  remarked  to 
Fitzgerald,  adding:  "And  Gawd!  it  doesn't  'arf 
send  the  dirt  flyin'  about.  They'll  attack,  may- 
be." 

"Any  officers  near  here,  Spudhole?"  Fitzger- 
ald asked,  for  he  had  recognised  the  voice  of  his 
comrade  Bubb. 

"  'Orficers,"  said  Spudhole.  "Yes,  Cap'n  Thor- 
ley  was  about  'ere  a  minute  ago;  'e  .  .  .  .  Gor 
blimey,  there's  the  shell  again!" 

Fitzgerald  listened  and  heard  "her"  coming, 


Lost  to  the  Wide  147 

crooning  out  the  unknown.  It  was  the  big  shell. 
Gathering  volume  it  approached,  an  inevitable 
terror,  a  messenger  of  death.  There  was  a  hur- 
ried stampede  to  a  near  dug-out  and  Fitzgerald 
found  himself  in  the  crush  and  carried  forward 
into  the  dark  recess  of  a  deep  shelter.  In  the  next 
few  moments  he  was  conscious  of  many  things, 
of  a  sudden  fall  to  the  soft,  muddy  floor ^  of  a 
choking  sensation  in  the  throat,  a  monstrously 
futile  effort  to  drag  himself  clear  of  the  man  who 
fell  on  top  of  him,  of  nervous  laughter  and  fierce 
imprecations.  Then  he  sank  into  forget  fulness. 
The  shell  had  blown  the  dug-out  in  on  its  occu- 
pants. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  SCRAP 

We're  well  in  the  doin's.    No  more  to  be  said^ 
The  orficer  wounded;  the  sergeant  is  dead. 
If  somethin*  don't  'appen  and  that  very  soon, 
We'll  not  have  a  man  in  the  blurry  platoon — 

Blurry  platoon, 

Pore  ole  platoon. 
Always  it's  for  it ;  this  blurry  platoon. 

(From  ''A  Soldier's  Song") 

IT  was  not  yet  dawn,  and  the  rain  dropped  sul- 
lenly into  the  wet  trench  where  the  soldiers 
stood  to  arms  on  the  banquette,  yawning  and 
shivering  with  the  cold.  The  bayonets  showed 
clear  cut  and  ominous  when  the  blazing  star-shell 
caught  them.  The  men  on  watch  shook  them- 
selves, rubbed  their  eyes  with  clay-encrusted  fin- 
gers, and  hummed  monotonous  tunes.  All  was 
very  quiet.  The  dawn  was  oppressive,  the  dark, 
mysterious  levels  had  an  ominous  threat  in  their 
incomprehensible  silence.  The  support  trench 
into  which  the  soldiers  had  come  was  a  great  mys- 
terious alley  filled  with  spectres  as  impalpable  as 
air.  .  .  .  The   dawn    came   imperceptibly,    men 

stood  down  and  spoke  of  breakfast.     But  there 

148 


A  Scrap  149 

was  no  fire;  the  loaves  and  biscuits  were  sodden 
with  rain.  Spudhole,  who  tried  to  open  a  tin 
of  bully-beef  with  his  clasp  knife,  cut  his  finger 
and  swore  dreadfully.  His  mates  stared  at  him 
and  nodded  their  heads,  but  did  not  speak 

Captain  Thorley  came  along  the  trench  speak- 
ing to  the  men  on  sentry-go. 

''Cut  your  finger,  Spudhole?"  he  asked  when 
he  came  into  the  bay  in  which  Bowdy  and  Bubb 
were  stationed.  The  captain  knew  every  man  by 
nickname. 

''Cut  it,''  said  Bubb.  ''Course  IVe  cut  it,  sir. 
My  fingers  are  so  damn  cold.  Wot  about  this  'ere 
mine,  sir?" 

"It  may  go  up  now  at  any  moment,"  said  Cap- 
tain Thorley.  "You've  all  got  to  keep  a  good 
look-out.  When  it  goes  up  every  man  cross  the 
top  and  man  the  crater.  Just  as  you  did  on 
Christmas  morning.  Bowdy  will  go  with  us  this 
time.  On  the  last  occasion  he  was  away,  making 
love  to  some  dear  French  girl." 

Bowdy  blushed. 

'Tore  ole  Fitz  'as  gone  west,"  said  Bubb. 
"  'E's  under  the  ground  wiv  a  dozen  tons  o' 
muck  on  top  o'  'im.  There  are  five  or  six  o'  our 
boys  buried  wiv  'im.  Round  the  corner  in  the 
next  bay." 


150  The  Brown  Brethren 

"I  was  looking  at  the  dug-out  that  fell  in," 
said  Bowdy.  ''They're  buried  deep  enough  any- 
how.   It's  no  good  digging  them  out." 

"We've  no  time  for  that,"  said  Thorley.  "It's 
a  long  day's  work  for  a  big  squad  if  it's  ever  at- 
tempted. Of  course  there's  not  a  soul  alive. 
Fitzgerald  was  coming  with  a  message  too.  But 
it's  all  right,  Flanagan  brought  the  message  in." 

"Did  you  see  a  bay'net  stickin'  up  froo  the 
roof?"  asked  Bubb.  "The  dug-out  fell  down 
round  it,  and  there  it's  stickin'  up  as  if  it  wanted 
to  stab  somebody." 

At  that  moment  the  earth  trembled  like  a  wind- 
shaken  leaf.  The  men  rushed  to  the  parapet  and 
looked  over.  Out  in  front  a  great  lump  rose  on 
the  level  like  a  whale  breaking  up  from  the  sea, 
and  a  livid  flash  lit  the  world.  The  soldiers  sank 
into  cover,  mute,  pale,  hesitating.  The  roar  of 
an  earthquake  filled  their  ears,  and  a  million  fly- 
ing fragments  filled  the  sky An  almost 

incoherent  order  passed  along  the  trench,  and  on 
the  right  men  clambered  over  the  sandbags  into 

the  open  field They  had  to  take  possession 

of  the  mine  crater.  Snogger,  Bowdy  Benners 
and  Bubb  were  across  and  in  the  next  minute  they 
were  conscious  of  many  things.  Bubb  slipped 
twice  in  getting  over  the  top,  and  panted  wearily 


A  Scrap  151 

as  he  rushed  towards  the  spot  where  the  earth 
was  lumped  up  black  and  raw.  Other  men  rushed 
along  at  his  side,  shouting  and  yelling.  Rifles 
were  discharged  wildly  at  no  particular  objec- 
tive, and  a  group  of  voluble  guns  chorused  in 
dizzy  harmony. 

The  men  clambered  down  the  steep  sides  of  the 
newly- formed  valley,  a  hundred  feet  deep  or 
more,  and  up  the  crest  again,  where  it  looked 
over  the  enemy's  trenches.  The  Germans  were 
already  advancing  in  extended  order  several  hun- 
dred strong.  The  advance  was  done  at  the  dou- 
ble through  the  lurid  flashes  of  curtain  fire  which 
the  English  guns  had  opened.  The  Germans  were 
falling,  and  the  sight  steadied  the  men  somewhat, 
and  they  trained  their  rifles  with  precision  and 
a  certain  amount  of  calmness  on  the  oncomers. 

The  English  guns  were  now  speaking  with 
furious  vehemence  and  the  shrapnel  hissed  at  the 
grey  forms  which  were  still  rising  over  the  rim 
of  the  trench  in  front.  Bubb  and  Benners  lay 
down  with  their  mates  on  the  slope  of  the  parapet 
and  fired,  a  bit  wildly  perhaps,  but  it  was  impos- 
sible to  miss.  A  machine-gun,  already  in 
position,  swayed  its  snout  from  side  to  side, 
snapped  viciously,  and  extracted  its  toll  from  the 
attackers. 


152  The  Brown  Brethren 

They  came  forward,  rushing  wildly,  their  bayo- 
nets in  air,  their  legs  clumsily  cutting  off  the  dis- 
tance between  their  trench  and  the  crater.  Many 
in  the  first  line  of  attackers  were  falling  and 
several  were  crawling  back  to  their  own  lines 
on  their  bellies.  Our  bombers  stood  waiting, 
fingering  their  bombs  nervously.  The  stench  of 
explosives  was  suffocating.  Several  who  were 
overcome  with  the  gases  dropped  to  the  ground 
and  rolled  down  the  slope  into  the  bottom  of  the 
pit.  Bill  Hurd  stood  up  on  the  verge  of  the 
crater,  where  the  wet,  glistening  machine-gun 
peeped  forth. 

^'Steady,  boys,  steady !''  he  cried.  ''Take  care- 
ful aim!  Don't  waste  a  round!  Make  every 
bullet  tell!  We'll  beat  them  off!  We'll  beat 
them  back,  back,  well  back!  Begorrah  we'll  show 
them." 

He  looked  enormous,  standing  there,  shouting 
vehemently  and  waving  his  arms. 

"Beat  them  back!"  he  yelled,  repeating  the 
same  remark  over  and  over  again.  His  rifle  lay 
against  the  rim  of  the  crater;  the  bayonet,  rusty 
and  grim,  peered  over  the  top  as  if  in  waiting. 

**Take  good  aim,"  he  shouted,  running  along 
the  rim  of  the  crater.  ''Be  sure  of  your  min 
.  .  .  .  Don't  get  flurried  ....  We'll  bate  thim 


A  Scrap  153 

back  easily !  .  .  .  .  Keep  cool  and  don't  get  flur- 
ried. If  ye  do  you'll  be  damned  unlucky.  Don't 
get  excited,"  he  shouted.  *lf  you  do  it  won't  be 
no  good." 

He  held  his  peace  then  and  Bubb  looked  round 
to  see  where  he  had  sought  cover.  He  was  lying 
on  his  face  and  a  very  tiny  red  scar  showed  on 
hi^  forehead. 

Although  the  enemy  advanced  at  the  double, 
the  time  dragged  slowly  for  the  men  on  the  para- 
pet. They  waited  in  agonised  suspense  for 
closer  combat ;  somehow  the  firing  seemed  to  have 
very  little  effect  on  the  attackers.  Hundreds 
fell  and  hundreds  took  the  place  of  the  fallen. 
The  rim  of  the  foemen's  parapet  was  like  the 
lip  of  a  waterfall;  the  men  came  across  in  waves, 
got  dashed  to  pieces,  and  waves  followed  only 
to  meet  with  a  similar  fate.  The  successive 
lines  of  men  were  endless,  eternal  as  a  running 
brook. 

The  German  first  line  drew  nearer ;  the  English 
could  almost  see  the  expressions  of  the  men's 
faces;  felt  that  the  soul  of  the  attackers  was  not 
in  their  work.  It  was  impossible  to  miss  them 
now.  The  attacking  lines  withered  like  waves 
on  a  beach.  One  man  who  came  in  front  flung 
down  his  rifle,  raced  towards  the  crater  with  his 


154  The  Brown  Brethren 

hands  in  air  and  jumped  in  on  top  of  Bill  Kurd's 
bayonet,  a  ludicrous  fixture. 

'Tull  it  out!''  he  yelled  in  agony,  speaking 
in  good  English.  'TuU  it  out,  for  Gott's 
sake!" 

But  there  was  no  time  to  spare  at  that  moment ; 
the  English  were  fighting  to  save  their  own  skins. 
The  German  rolled  down  to  the  bottom  of  the 
crater  with  the  bayonet  on  which  he  had  sat  still 
stuck  in  his  body. 

A  second  and  a  third  wave  of  attack  followed; 
but  the  concentrated  fire  of  the  defenders  cut 
great  gaps  in  the  attackers'  lines,  which  became 
merged  one  with  the  other,  when  half  way  across. 
The  men  had  no  heart  for  further  movement; 
they  drew  themselves  to  earth,  and  dug  holes  in 
the  ground  for  safety.  The  English  artillery 
fire  prevented  them  from  going  back,  the  rifles 
would  not  allow  them  to  come  forward ;  they  were 
caught  between  two  fires. 

Now  and  again  an  entrenching  tool  could  be 
seen  rising  in  air,  and  it  was  fired  at.  When  a 
figure  in  grey  moved,  a  questing  bullet  reminded 
it  forcibly  of  the  indiscretion.  At  times  one 
would  rise  and  walk  around  in  an  unconcerned 
and  indifferent  manner,  probably  he  had  gone 
insane,  or  perhaps  the  pain  of  a  wound  put 


A  Scrap  155 

death  out  of  reckoning.  The  end  was  in  all  cases 
the  same,  the  bullet  found  the  man,  and  the 
ghastly  fury  of  destruction  held  its  sway. 

On  the  right  they  reached  the  wires  and  the 
boys  went  out  and  met  them:  there  the  bayonet 
was  at  work. 

They  came  up  in  big  droves  and  some  fumbled 
through.     The  defenders  rushed  out  and  gave 

fight An  excited  machine  gunner  played 

for  a  minute  on  the  crush  of  friend  and  foe 

The  Germans  lost  heart,  retreated  and  were 
followed  with  bayonet,  bludgeon  and  bomb. 
Tripping  on  the  wires  and  stepping  in  flesh  and 
blood,  they  went  back,  tramping  on  dead  and 
wounded.  The  latter  groaned  piteously  and 
shrieked  for  mercy. 

The  retreat  became  general,  the  front  wave  of 
attackers  receded,  those  which  followed  stood 
still  undecided.  Here  and  there  isolated  parties 
made  great  fight,  holding  out  until  the  last  men 
fell 

Some  of  the  Irish  followed  them  across :  a  large 
party  of  prisoners  were  surrounded  near  the  hos- 
tile trench.  The  German  gunners  had  shortened 
their  range  and  were  now  shelling  the  ground  be- 
tween the  lines. 

Fighting  was  even  more  severe  on  the  right. 


156  The  Brown  Brethren 

There  a  confused  and  struggling  mass  reeled 
round  the  wires  in  a  last  wild  effort,  and  the  Ger-  "^ 

man  artillery  dealt  death  impartially  to  friend 
and  foe  alike.  On  all  sides  the  wounded 
covered  the   field,   lying  in  huddled  heaps,   in  | 

rows,  singly  and  in  pairs.    In  front  of  the  mine  I 

a  German  moved  on  his  stomach,  then  rose  to 
his  feet  and  flung  a  bomb  at  a  party  which  went 
out  to  succour  the  wounded.  A  youngster,  a  boy 
newly  out,  named  Ryan,  rushed  forward  with  his 
rifle,  fired  and  missed.  Still  advancing,  he  slid 
a  round  into  the  breach  of  his  weapon,  shoved 
the  rifle  close  to  the  German's  forehead  and 
pulled  the  trigger.    The  upper  part  of  the  man's 

head  was  blown  off 

All  day  long  the  men  stopped  in  the  crater, 
always  on  the  alert,  and  in  front  of  them  a  long 
line  of  earth  gradually  took  shape  on  the  field, 
which  showed  that  the  enemy  worked  hard  dig- 
ging himself  in.  Towards  dusk  the  dark  line 
took  on  a  whitish  colour ;  the  diggers  had  reached 
the  chalk  and  were  well  under  cover.  When 
darkness  fell  the  trench  was  raided  and  the  occu- 
pants taken  prisoners.  Then  graves  were  dug 
and  the  dead  were  buried. 


CHAPTER  XII 


It's  hloomin*  well  still  the  same. 
Ever  and  always  the  same. 

Right  in  the  thick  of  it, 

Not  feelin'  sick  of  it, 
Naw !  but  it's  always  the  same,  the  same. 

I  like  the  'ole  bisness,  not  'alf, 
Son  of  the  Empire,  not  'alf  I 

Le  guerre  never  finny, 

It's  whizzbang  and  Minnie, 
And  always  the  usual  strafe,  strafe,  strafe. 

For  ever  and  ever  the  same, 

Bloomin'  well  always  the  same; 
If  the  guns  for  a  change 
Would  just  lengthen  their  range, 

But  naw !  they  just  strafe  us  the  same. 

(From  Trench  Doggerel.) 

THE  winter  was  over,  the  birds  were  sing- 
ing again  on  the  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments, the  green  grasses  peeped  out  be- 
tween the  cobbles  of  the  deserted  village  streets, 
and  the  flowers  showed  in  the  open  spaces  be- 
tween the  lines.  The  trenches  were  becoming 
dry;  the  parapets  no  longer  crumbled  down;  it 
was  possible  to  climb  over  the  parados  at  night 

157 


IS8  The  Brown  Brethren 

without  flinging  half  the  structure  into  the  muddy 
alleys,  where  the  soldiers  kept  eternal  watch  on 
the  lines  across  the  way.  Sheepskin  jackets  were 
handed  in ;  top  boots  were  worn  no  more ;  a  man 
could  sleep  at  ease  in  a  dug-out  now,  for  the 
roofs,  no  longer  weighted  by  the  rain,  had  ceased 
falling  in  on  the  hapless  sleepers.  The  tottering 
walls  gathered  strength;  tottering  spirits  were 
braced  up;  men  saw  the  sun  and  were  pleased. 
The  winter  was  over. 

For  one  who  has  not  experienced  them,  it  is 
difficult  to  realise  the  hardships  of  the  front  line 
between  the  months  of  October  and  April.  The 
trenches  are  deep  ditches  filled  with  mud  and 
water  that  reach  the  waist.  Now  and  again  the 
heavy  top-boots  are  useless  protection  against 
wet,  the  water  rises  over  the  tops  of  the  boots 
and  runs  down  the  legs  of  the  men.  The  boots 
stick  in  the  mud,  and  often  the  men  have  to 
climb  out  of  them;  clamber  from  cells  into  a 
quagmire.  In  the  days  following  the  first  trench 
winter  when  the  earth  got  dry  soldiers  who  had 
died  in  their  top-boots  were  dug  from  the  floors 
of  the  trenches.  Weary  with  their  efforts  to  get 
free  from  the  deadly  embrace  of  the  muddy  quag- 
mire, they  fell  asleep  and  succumbed  to  exposure, 


The  Day's  Work  159 

died  in  their  graves.  And  in  spring  they  were 
dug  out  and  buried  anew. 

The  dug-out  is  as  treacherous  as  the  trench. 
The  shaky  construction,  the  lodge  of  fear,  is  al- 
ways built  in  a  hurry.  Weak  props  hold  a  crazy 
roof  in  place;  sandbags  filled  with  earth  serve 
the  purpose  of  tiles.  In  dr^  weather  a  dug-out 
serves  its  purpose  well,  but  in  the  rainy  weather 
the  sandbags  becoming  saturated  finally  weigh 
the  rafters  and  props  down  to  earth.  Time  and 
again  the  weary  sleepers  never  wake,  their  shel- 
ter becomes  their  grave. 

The  trenches  in  the  summer  nights  have  a 
charm  peculiarly  their  own  when  the  starshells 
riot  in  the  heavens  and  the  air  is  full  of  the  lan- 
guorous scent  of  sleeping  flowers.  If  the  guns  of 
war  are  silent,  there  is  a  genial  atmosphere  per- 
vading the  whole  place,  and  men  go  about  their 
work  in  a  light-hearted  manner. 

One  can  smell  tea  brewing  in  the  sheltered 
bay  where  a  brazier  glows  cosily  in  the  lee  of 
the  traverse.  A  game  of  cards  is  in  progress  in 
a  dug-out,  and  a  youth  may  be  seen  writing  a 
letter  by  the  light  of  a  timid  candle  stuck  on  the 
wall.  At  that  moment  one  does  not  feel  far  re- 
moved from  home.  But  what  a  contrast  in  the 
cheerless  winter.    All  the  cosy  comfort  is  a  thing 


i6o  The  Brown  Brethren 

of  the  past.  Men  plough  through  muck  and 
mire,  dragging  their  feet  and  legs  through  water 
and  mud,  or  sleep  in  the  open,  shivering  with 
cold.  The  fingers  are  chilled  to  the  bone,  all 
feeling  has  gone  away  from  the  feet ;  for  all  one 
knows,  the  feet  may  have  gone.  No  fires  are  lit, 
there  is  no  wood,  nothing  that  will  burn. 

The  long  night  marches  have  lost  all  their 
romance.  Clothes  are  seldom  dry,  they  cling  to 
the  body  like  the  rags  of  a  drowned  man,  scourg- 
ing and  scaling  the  flesh.  The  cold  rain  stings 
the  flesh,  the  snow  freezes  the  fingers.  Marching 
is  difficult,  the  roads  are  thick  with  mud,  and  all 
roads  lead  to  the  firing  line,  the  line  of  red  agony, 
of  desolation.  The  soldier  is  a  mute,  impotent 
figure,  a  blind  pawn  in  the  game  of  war.  The 
billets  are  cold  and  cheerless.  The  broken  roof, 
which  allowed  the  winds  of  night  to  play  round 
the  sleepers  in  the  hot  summer  weather,  now  lets 
in  the  cold  and  wet.  Sleep  is  hardly  a  rest,  it 
is  a  moment  of  forgetfulness  similar  to  the  solace 
which  a  sick  man  finds  in  a  drug. 

Spring  was  well  on  its  way  now;  the  boys  in 
the  trenches  were  happy  again.  Bubb  and 
Flanagan  were  up  to  any  sort  of  mischief  or  deed 
of  daring.  The  persistent  sniper  who  kept  pot- 
ting at  their  bay  annoyed  them  however.    Bubb, 


The  Day's  Work  i6i 

back  from  hospital  and  full  of  vitality,  vowed 
that  it  was  up  to  him  to  put  the  sniper  out  of 
action. 

*Tm  goin'  up  on  this  'ere  caboosh  at  the  rear," 
said  Bubb  pointing  to  the  slag-heap  behind  the 
British  front  line.  ^Tll  maybe  get  a  sight  on  the 
Boche." 

'Tm  with  you  in  the  game,"  said  Flanagan. 

Both  men  went  out  in  the  early  dawn  and  took 
their  places  close  to  the  crest  of  the  mammoth 
slag-heap.  Noon  found  them  still  there  lying 
prone  on  the  surface  of  the  coal-mines'  off-scour, 
their  heads  close  to  the  rim  of  the  heap,  their  eyes 
fixed  on  the  enemy's  trench  which  wound  slyly 
as  a  snake  through  the  levels  some  seven  hundred 
yards  away.  A  spit  down  from  the  two  boys  lay 
the  English  line.  Out  in  front  of  it  dozens  of 
bundles  in  khaki  lay  limp  and  lifeless,  waiting 
for  the  summer  to  cover  them  up  with  her 
flowers. 

^'There's  a  'undred  or  more,  out  there,"  said 
Bubb.  "Gawd,  it's  a  funny  bisness,  killin'  and 
killin'.  One  would  think  we  enjoys  it  by  the  fuss 
the  pypers  in  England  makes  o'  it.  Anyway, 
it's  a  blurry  rotten  way  of  fightin',"  he  con- 
tinued as  he  changed  his  position  by  the  fraction 
of  an  inch  without  removing  his  eye  from  the  tip 


i62  The  Brown  Brethren 

of  the  rifle  foresight.  "Gawd,"  he  whispered, 
"I  'ave  'im  now.  I  saw  somefin'  move  just  like 
a  bird.    Til  give  'im  a  round." 

''Don't,"  muttered  Flanagan,  under  his  breath. 
"It's  no  good  firing  if  you're  not  sure  of  your 
man.  One  shot  will  give  us  away,  and  that's  the 
twentieth  time  you've  seen  him;  each  time  in  a 
different  spot.    He's  not  like  a  bird;  he  can't  be 

in  two  places  at  one  time What  the  hell ! 

Don't  move !" 

"A  cramp  in  my  guts!"  groaned  Bubb,  wrig- 
gling a  little.  "Gawd,  it  isn't  'arf  giving  me  gyp ! 
Ooh— whooh!" 

The  youth  kicked  out  with  both  legs,  raised 
his  head  an  inch  or  two,  then  brought  it  down 
again  to  the  level  of  the  earth.  Flanagan  swore 
under  his  breath  and  cursed  Bubb  with  vehe- 
mence. 

"I  can't  'elp  it,"  said  Bubb.  "I  must  move. 
I'd  rather  'ave  a  bullet  in  the  'ead  than  a  cramp 
in  my  belly.  Wooh!  It'll  twist  me  up  like  a 
'edge  'og!" 

"Matey,"  whispered  Flanagan,  turning  half 
left  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  Spudhole. 

"Wot!" 

"You  know  that  if  you're  seen  moving  you'll 
get  a  bullet  across  here " 


The  Day's  Work  163 

"I  don't  care  a  damn,"  said  Bubb. 

''But  I  do,"  muttered  Flanagan.  ''Next  time 
I  come  out  sniping  Fm  going  to  take  a  man  with 
me ;  one  that  won't  give  a  position  away  when  he 
has  got  a  sore  tummy " 

'Tm  not  going  to  move  no  more,"  said  Bubb. 
"I'm  going  to  be  as  quiet  as  a  sandbag.  Ooh- 
wooh !" 

"How's  your  cramp  now?"  asked  Flanagan, 
when  Bubb  had  kept  quiet  for  a  good  ten  minutes. 
"Gone,  is  it?" 

"It's  'opped  it,"  said  Spudhole  with  a  laugh. 
"Blimey!" 

Both  men  cowered  to  earth  giggling  nervously 
as  the  bomb  burst,  scattering  a  cloud  of  dust  over 
them.    A  second  shell  burst,  and  a  third. 

"They  must  have  spotted  us,"  said  Flanagan, 
frowning  at  the  fields. 

"If  they  have  it's  all  up." 

But  the  shelling  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it 
had  begun,  and  the  youngsters  breathed  freely 
again. 

"Cleaning  out  their  guns,  I  suppose,"  said 
Flanagan.     "Lucky    they    didn't    clean    us    out 

of     existence I'm     tired     of     waiting 

here." 

"I'm  tired  an'  'ungry  an'  'ot,"  said  Bubb.    "But 


164  The  Brown  Brethren 

we  can't  get  out  of  this  damned  place  till 
night  ....  they  won't  'arf  'ave  the  laugh  on 
us  when  we  go  back." 

''Not  half/'  said  Flanagan  absently. 

"And  I  bet  Captain  Thorley  a  bob  I'd  lay 
the  sniper  by  the  'eels,"  said  Bubb.  ''But  it's 
no  go." 

"Well,  where  can  the  fellow  be?"  asked 
Flanagan,  removing  a  speck  of  dust  from  the 
backsight  of  his  rifle  with  a  cautious  hand.  "No 
man  can  fire  at  us  from  the  German  trench.  It's 
behind  a  rise,  and  even  if  one  of  the  Boches  looks 
over  the  parapet  he  can't  see  our  trench.  But 
still  the  fact  remains  that  no  sooner  does  one  of 
our  boys  look  over  than  a  bullet  zipps  past  his 
ear.  Where  does  the  bullet  come  from?  The 
sniper  must  be  between  the  lines.  He  must,  but 
where?" 

Spudhole  shrugged  his  shoulders  helplessly 
and  muttered:  "We  was  fools  comin'  out  'ere. 
But  'e  'as  done  for  four  of  our  fellers  an'  'e 
must  die.    If  'e  doesn't  .  .  .  ." 

He  shook  a  cautious  little  head  and  became 
silent.  The  sun  sank  down  the  sky,  and  its  sight 
slid  along  the  barrels  of  the  rifles  from  hand- 
guard  to  muzzle  whenever  the  weapons  were 
moved.    Flanagan  crunched  a  biscuit  with  zeal- 


The  Day's  Work  165 

ous  teeth;  Bubb  traced  furrows  in  the  ground 
with  his  trigger  finger,  but  all  the  time  kept  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  front. 

"Our  boys  are  makin'  tea  now/'  he  said.  "It's 
about  four  o'clock,  I  suppose  .  .  .  that  damned 
sun's  in  no  'urry  neither.  There!"  he  ejaculated 
suddenly.  "One  of  our  boys  'as  put  'is  'ead  over 
the  trench!    Wait." 

Both  men  heard  it,  a  smothered  shriek  like 
the  sound  of  a  drowning  puppy. 

"  'E  'as  got  it  in  the  'ead,"  said  Bubb  in  a  fierce 
voice.    "The  bloody  fool!    Flan!" 

"What  is  it,  Bubb?" 

"I  saw  smoke,"  said  Bubb,  speaking  calmly. 
"Just  look  over.  See  a  little  holler  near  the 
German  lines?  Yes?  Well,  there's  a  dead 
man  there  wiv  'is  knees  curled  up.  Got  im? 
That's  the  place.  I  saw  a  pufif  of  smoke  and 
somefing  moved.  Look,  Flan,  see  somefing 
shining?" 

"I  see  it,"  said  Flanagan. 

"The  sun's  catchin'  the  sniper's  'ipe." 

Both  the  youngsters  drew  their  weapons  taut 
to  their  shoulders  and  adjusted  :heir  sights. 

"Four-fifty?"  inquired  Bubb,  adjusting  his 
sight  to  four  hundred  and  fifty  yards. 

"A  little  lower,  a  little  lower,"  said  Flana- 


i66  The  Brown  Brethren 

gan.  "Make  it  four  and  you'll  not  be  far 
out  ....  It'll  be  hard  to  judge  ....  if  we 
hit  the  dead  man.  He'll  not  raise  a  dust.  You 
aim  first,  Bubb." 

Bubb's  left  cheek  twitched,  and  his  eye  took 
in  the  objective.  He  pulled  the  trigger.  A  spurt 
of  dust  flew  into  air  a  little  to  the  rear  of  the 
dead  man. 

''Aim  low,  and  we'll  get  him  next  time,"  said 
Flanagan. 

Both  rifles  spoke  together.  A  figure  detached 
itself  from  the  limp  lump  which  lay  in  the  hollow 
near  the  enemy's  lines,  rose  to  a  standing  posi- 
tion, and  beat  the  air  with  agitated  arms. 

Thus  for  a  moment,  then  the  Thing  collapsed 
in  an  abject  heap  on  the  ground. 

"That's  all,"  said  Bubb.  "The  boys  in  the 
trench  are  firin'  now.  They'll  finish  'im  oflF  if 
'e's  not  done  in  already." 

The  rifles  cracked  spitefully  in  the  trench 
which  rimmed  the  base  of  the  slag-heap,  the  sun 
sank  lower  and  the  shadows  lengthened.  The 
two  youngsters  broke  biscuits,  gnawed  vigorous- 
ly and  waited  for  the  darkness  to  fall. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  TRENCHES 

All  the  night  the  frogs  go  chuckle ;  all  the  day  the  birds  are 
singing, 

In  the  pond  be«ide  the  meadow;  by  the  roadway  poplar- 
lined  ; 

In  the  field  between  the  trenches  are  a  million  blossoms 
springing 

'Twixt  the  grass  of  silver  bayonets  where  the  lines  of  battle 
wind ; 

Where  man  has  manned  the  trenches  for  the  maiming  of 
his  kind. 

(From  "Soldier  Songs.") 

THE  trench  is  a  world  within  itself,  having 
customs,  joys  and  griefs  peculiar  to  its 
limitations.  The  inmates  can  only  claim 
for  the  most  part  a  short  existence;  they  have 
degrees  of  opulence  and  poverty,  but  the  former 
is  far  removed  from  those  who  are  legally  heirs 
to  it,  and  all  the  dwellers  in  the  trench  commune 
share  their  poverty  in  common.  The  word 
"ours''  is  on  all  lips;  save  for  a  few  relics  of 
outside  civilisation  there  is  nothing  which  a  man 
claims  as  "mine,"  Food  and  drink  and  cloth- 
ing are  "ours,"  as  also  are  the  parcels   from 

167 


i68  The  Brown  Brethren 

home,  though  the  men  to  whom  they  are  ad- 
dressed have  generally  the  privilege  of  opening 
them.  Money  has  lost  all  its  value :  for  the  time 
being  food  is  not  sold  here,  and  all  men  have  to 
work  at  the  same  job,  and  they  work  well,  for 
the  safety  of  their  bodies  depends  upon  the  la- 
bour of  their  hands.  Again,  in  the  carping  times 
of  peace  a  soldier  may  depend  upon  the  sweat  of 
others  for  his  daily  needs;  here  in  the  trenches 
he  is  a  Socialist  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  much- 
abused  word. 

The  life  of  the  Commune  is  seldom  monoton- 
ous, its  uncertainty  makes  it  interesting,  its 
novelty  never  wanes.  The  trench  has  its  his- 
tory, every  dug-out  a  legend,  and  the  shell- 
riven  alleys  of  war  are  steeped  in  tradition.  The 
narratives  of  the  trench  are  handed  on  from 
regiment  to  regiment,  a  word  or  two  on  the  fire- 
step  while  the  battalion  just  going  out  changes 
places  with  the  relieving  battalion,  and  the 
legend  of  an  adjacent  dug-out  is  made  plain. 

Such  scraps  of  conversation  as  these  may  be 
heard.  "That  dug-out  on  the  left  got  a  'ole  in 
the  roof  the  other  night.  A  time-expired  man 
who  was  going  off  to  Blighty  the  next  day  went 
in  there  and  lay  down  to  kip.  A  whizz-bang  'it 
the  roof,  and  the  poor  bloke  went  west." 


The  Trenches  169 

*'The  Germans  occupied  these  trenches  at 
one  time;  the  Guards  charged  them,  and  not  a 
man  escaped.  You'll  see  their  dug-outs  all  along 
here." 

'*A  sniper  used  to  play  'ell  with  this  bay  a 
month  ago.  'E  used  to  send  the  bullets  into  the 
trench.  It  took  the  men  some  time  to  discover 
'im.  Then  they  got  'im.  'E  was  up  on  the  top 
of  a  chimney-stack  in  the  village  behind  the 
German  trench.  'E  could  see  right  down  the 
trench.  Our  artillery  brought  the  chimney  down 
and  the  sniper  with  it." 

So  the  stories  are  told  and  retold,  and  passed 
from  one  set  of  soldiers  to  the  next  who  occupy 
the  trenches. 

No  doubt  stories  become  distorted  and  en- 
larged in  the  course  of  time,  but  always  there 
is  a  grain  of  truth  in  the  most  exaggerated  trench 
story ;  and  every  tale  gives  an  added  interest  and 
a  subtle  touch  of  romance  to  the  locality.  The 
mean,  primitive  trench,  the  home  of  the  Brown 
Brethren,  is  not  without  certain  features  of 
grandeur,  and  an  atmosphere  of  mystery  per- 
vades the  whole  place,  due,  no  doubt,  to  its  close 
association  with  death. 

It  was  yet  dark  in  the  trenches  of  the  Cologne 
sector,    a    much    be-shelled    locality    on    Vimy 


1 70  The  Brown  Brethren 

Ridge,  but  a  faint  subdued  flush  showed  on  the 
Eastern  sky  far  away  behind  the  enemy's  line. 
Stars  were  twinkling  coldly  clear  overhead  and 
a  keen  wind  rustled  along  the  floor  of  the  trench. 
Vague  mutterings  and  rumblings  could  be  heard 
in  the  dug-outs;  the  men  already  warned  to 
stand  to  arms  on  the  banquette  were  snatching 
a  few  moments'  extra  repose;  hugging  with 
miserly  desire  at  an  additional  minute's  rest. 
Sergeant  Snogger  came  running  along  the  trench 
shouting.  "Stand  to!  Stand  to!"  he  called. 
There  was  no  particular  hurry  for  the  sector  was 
then  a  comparatively  quiet  one.  But  the  ser- 
geant merely  ran  because  c*  brisk  race  was  a  mosc 
effective  means  of  driving  away  the  sleepy  feel- 
ing which  was  fostered  by  the  narcotic  odours 
of  the  dug-out. 

The  men  turned  out  yawning  and  swearing, 
then  broke  into  a  brisk  run  round  a  near  traverse 
and  back  again  to  their  posts  by  the  dew-be- 
sprinkled bayonets.  One  man  looked  across  the 
parapet,  fixed  an  indifferent  eye  on  the  Ridge, 
then  burst  into  a  rag-time  chorus  which  a  mate 
took  up  with  vigour. 

The  Zouave  Wood,  the  shell-scarred  spinney 
where  the  trees  were  flung  broadcast  by  high 
concussion  shells,  lay  on  the  left,  wrapped  in 


The  Trenches  171 

shadow  and  hiding  many  mysteries.  In  it  was 
many  a  little  grave  where  the  kindly  earth 
covered  friend  and  foe  alike.  It  was  a  place  of 
many  secrets,  of  strange  and  vague  whispering. 
There,  in  the  dawn,  the  spirits  of  the  dead  men 
seemed  to  hold  converse.  But  by  day  the  earth 
could  not  hide  them,  the  weapons  of  the  quick 
dug  them  again  from  the  graves  and  flung  them 
out  on  the  riven  spaces  of  the  restless  earth. 

The  air  was  cold  and  keen.  The  men  covered 
their  chins  with  the  collars  of  their  khaki  coats, 
lit  their  cigarettes  and  leant  against  the  parapet. 
They  dozed  for  a  moment  and  then  woke  guiltily 
with  a  start.  Nobody  had  noticed  them,  they 
dozed  again  ....  The  east  flushed  crimson,  the 
German  trench  to  the  left  showed  dark  against 
the  glow  and  stood  out  distinctly.  A  sniper's 
bullet  ripped  a  sandbag  and  a  shower  of  fine 
white  dust  dropped  into  the  trench.  No  one  paid 
any  heed  ....  The  birds  were  out  hopping 
from  prop  to  prop  of  the  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments. A  lark  soared  into  air  pouring  out  an 
ecstatic  song  ....  The  dead  men  on  the  levels 
could  now  be  seen  lying  close  to  the  earth  in  limp 
and  ghastly  attitudes,  the  birds  singing  above 
them  ....  The  sun  was  up;  a  million  dew- 
drops  sparkled  in  a  glorious  jewelled  disarray 


172  The  Brown  Brethren 

on  the  wires  ....  The  field  had  taken  on  a 
greener  hue  and  in  many  places  the  daisies 
peeped  timidly  up  from  the  soft  grasses  .... 
A  white  mist  circled  round  the  spinney  and  the 
gashes  in  the  trees  became  more  distinct.  Look- 
ing southwards  down  on  to  the  level  lands  one 
could  see  the  Double  Grassier  tailing  out  on  one 
side  to  the  village  of  Loos  and  on  the  other  side  to 
the  mining  hamlet  of  Maroc  ....  Away  down 
on  the  left,  twelve  kilometres  away,  lay  Lens  with 
its  many  chimneys,  and  a  number  of  the  chim- 
neys smoking.  The  enemy  were  probably  work- 
ing the  mines.  The  terra-cotta  houses  stood  out 
very  distinct  and  seemed  nearer  to  us  than  they 
really  were.  The  air  was  very  clear  and  a  per- 
fect flood  of  brilliant  sunshine  lit  the  town,  the 
enemy's  trench  and  the  dead  men  lying  out  on 
the  field. 

The  order  to  stand  down  had  long  since  been 
given  and  the  men  were  now  busy  preparing  their 
breakfasts.  Braziers  were  alight  in  the  dug-outs 
and  the  red  glow  of  flaming  coke  stood  out  in 
vivid  contrast  to  the  dark  interiors.  Little 
wreaths  of  pale  smoke  curled  up  over  the  trench 
and  the  air  was  full  of  the  odour  of  frying  bacon. 
Spudhole  was  frying  his  bread  in  the  grease  and 
to  judge  by  the  expression  on  his  face  he  was  very 


The  Trenches  173 

interested  in  his  work.  Nothing  else  seemed  to 
trouble  him.  The  sniper's  bullet  hit  the  sandbag 
again  and  a  spurt  of  chalk  was  whisked  into  the 
frying-pan.  The  youth  looked  up,  obviously  an- 
noyed, and  swore  whole-heartedly;  then  he  bent 
to  his  work  again. 

Breakfast  ready,  Bubb,  Bowdy  and  Flanagan 
sat  on  the  fire-step  and  ate. 

"I've  an  appetite  like  the  war  Casualty  List," 
said  Flanagan.  ''It's  always  crying  for  'More! 
More!'  and  is  never  satisfied.  It's  almost  as 
bad  as  Bubb  when  he  came  back  from  hospital." 

"I'd  rawer  be  'ere  than  in  the  'orsp,"  said 
Bubb.     "This  breakfast  is  not  to  be  larfed  at." 

The  fare  was  indeed  excellent  and  every  man 
did  it  justice.  Each  had  a  mess-tin  of  tea,  a 
thick  slice  of  buttered  bread  and  a  rasher  of 
bacon.  Tongues  were  loosened  and  the  talk  be- 
came general  for  there  were  so  many  things  to 
talk  about.  The  week-old  papers  which  came  by 
last  night's  post  were  read  and  comments  passed 
on  the  contents.  A  full  page  advertisement  in  a 
leading  daily  came  in  for  a  fair  share  of  sarcasm. 
This  advertisement  told  of  the  virtues  of  a  won- 
derful beauty  cream  just  discovered.  It  gave  a 
most  delightfully  delicate  pink  flush  to  the  skin 
and  took  away  the  effects  of  twenty  or  thirty 


174  The  Brown  Brethren 

years'  wear  from  a  woman's  face.  It  was  the 
talk  of  London.  All  the  society  women  were 
using  it.     Lady  So-and-So  said  so-and-so  about 

it;  the  celebrated  actress  A vowed  that  it 

was  the  one  thing  which  England  had  waited  for 
since  the  early  part  of  the  last  century,  etc. 

"For  my  own  part  I  wish  they  invented  some- 
thin'  to  take  away  the  crawlers  off  my  clothes," 
Spudhole  remarked  as  he  finished  his  tea.  "I'm 
goin'  to  'ave  a  coot." 

He  got  to  his  feet,  took  off  his  tunic  and 
donned  his  equipment  over  his  shirt.  Bowdy 
went  into  the  dug-out  to  have  a  few  hours'  sleep ; 
Flanagan  sat  down  on  the  fire-step  and  lit  a  cig- 
arette. 

"It's  getting  quite  hot,  Spudhole,"  he  said. 

"  'Ot  as  'ell,"  Spudhole  replied. 

At  that  moment  a  shell  burst  amidst  the  poppy 
flowers  on  the  open  in  front  of  the  sector  and 
Spudhole,  w^ho  was  making  his  way  towards  the 
dug-out  door  clapped  his  hand  to  his  neck  and 
exclaimed :  "I've  copped  one  this  time ;  it's  givin' 
me  gyp!" 

Flanagan  shouted  "Stretcher  bearers !"  Then 
he  turned  to  help  his  mate  but  even  as  he  did  so 
he  felt  a  sudden  penetrating  pain  pierce  his  own 
chin,  and  the  wasp  which  was  responsible  for  the 


The  Trenches  175 

sting  flew  off  to  a  safe  distance  and  poised  itself 
in  the  air  over  the  dug-out.  Fitzgerald,  knowing 
that  it  was  contemplating  another  attack,  pre- 
pared to  retreat. 

"It's  wasps,  Spudhole!"  he  yelled.  "We'll 
clear  off  round  the  corner." 

But  before  they  moved  Bowdy  Benners  rushed 
out  of  the  dug-out,  festooned  with  angry  wasps. 

"Good  God !"  he  yelled,  striking  out  with  both 
hands.  "I'm  stung  to  death.  My  pillow  was  a 
nest  of  the  swine!  Git  out,  you  vermin!  .  .  .  . 
Got  that  one!  Did  I?  He's  stung  my  finger. 
.  .  .  Oh!  blast!  .  .  .  ." 

The  three  retreated  at  the  double  round  the 
traverse  and  into  the  next  bay.  The  occupants 
were  just  sitting  down  to  breakfast,  a  good  break- 
fast, for  the  post  had  come  and  parcels  were 
bulky. 

"Wot  the  blazes  is  this?"  one  of  them  ex- 
claimed as  the  crush  of  men  rounded  the  corner 
waving  their  arms  about  their  heads.  "These 
'ere  blokes  are  working  their  tickets,  I  suppose !" 

He  finished  his  remark  with  a  yell,  for  an  en- 
terprising wasp  had  flown  the  rout  and  stung  the 
speaker  on  the  nose.  Then  the  insect  made  the 
round  of  the  breakfast  party.  A  few  fled  in- 
stantly and  escaped,  others  took  to  their  heels  at 


176  The  Brown  Brethren 

the  first  sting,  but  the  man  who  waited  to  pick 
up  the  sultana  cake  and  the  tin  of  sardines  had 
all  the  colours  of  a  Board  School  map  on  his  face 
for  weeks  afterwards. 

A  narrow,  crooked  trench  infested  by  furious 
wasps  is  not  a  healthy  locality.  The  insects  out- 
manoeuvred the  soldiers  at  every  turn.  The  men 
turned  the  third  buttress  feeling  that  they  had 
escaped  their  persecutors  only  to  find  that  the 
insects  had  crossed  the  top  of  the  traverse  and 
were  in  waiting  round  the  corner.  As  a  man 
runs  a  trench  is  a  weary  pathway,  as  a  wasp  flies 
it  presents  no  difficulties. 

The  place  was  in  an  uproar.  The  wasps  had 
attacked  on  both  sides,  some  drove  the  men  left, 
others  flew  after  them  on  the  right.  In  every 
bay  their  numbers  seemed  to  have  increased;  at 
the  traverse  turning  the  soldiers  eluded  them  for 
a  moment  only  to  encounter  them  in  the  next  bay. 
A  number  of  men  sought  safety  in  the  dugouts ; 
the  wasps  followed  and  drove  them  out  into  the 
perilous  trench  again.  When  the  first  officer 
was  met  he  stood  for  a  moment  with  one  foot  in 
the  trench,  one  on  the  firestep,  and  stared  in  as- 
tonishment. His  wonderment  was  short-lived. 
A  wasp  announced  itself  when  it  alighted  on  his 


The  Trenches  177 

ear,  and  immediately  the  subaltern  became  one 
with  the  rout. 

Spudhole  was  now  wounded  in  several  places. 
The  morning  had  been  fine,  and  like  the  rest  of 
his  mates,  he  was  in  shirt-sleeves  fighting  order. 

'Tve  copped  a  sting  again,''  he  yelled.  ^'That's 
umpty  eleven  times.  I  always  said  that  I  didn't 
'old  with  a  war  like  this  un.  Bombs  and  bullets, 
whizz-bangs  and  pip-squeaks  and  now  these  'ere 
God- forsaken  wopses  ....  That's  anuver  one, 
a  blurry  Boche.  'E  sniped  me  from  the  rim  of 
me  cap  ....  God!  Platoons  of  'em  .  .  .  . 
Oh !  damn !  That  un  took  me  at  the  rear  where 
I  should  ave  a  patch  on  me  trousers  .  .  .  /' 

Again  a  bay  was  entered  where  another  merry 
party  was  sitting  down  to  breakfast;  a  gargan- 
tuan spread  of  fried  bacon,  toast  and  trench  tea. 
A  platoon  officer  was  sharing  in  the  meal.  He 
was  a  stout  good-natured  man  with  a  bald  head, 
baby-pink  and  shiny.  The  advance  party  of 
wasps  could  not  miss  the  head;  the  pests  came 
to  a  halt  on  it,  and  being  nasty,  they  stung  when 
they  alighted.  The  officer  yelled  several  words 
which  the  men  had  never  noticed  in  his  vocabu- 
lary before.  Groping  frantically  for  his  hat, 
which,  as  often  happens  in  a  crisis,  was  nowhere 
to  be  found,  he  overturned  the  brazier,  the  toast- 


lyS  The  Brown  Brethren 

rack,  and  several  canteens  of  tea,  scalding  the 
feet  of  a  number  of  men  who  were  seated  on  the 
firestep  ....  The  soldiers  were  up  in  an  instant 
and  raced  off  along  the  trench.  Rifles,  equip- 
ment and  ammunition  were  flung  down  on  the 
floor  and  trampled  into  the  clay  and  rubble. 

At  this  point,  Spudhole  was  seized  with  a 
happy  thought.  A  newspaper  had  fallen  on  the 
fire  and  was  bursting  into  flame.  Spudhole, 
seizing  the  lighted  paper,  held  it  close  to  his  face 
and  kept  the  wasps  away  for  a  moment. 

''But  wot  is  the  good  of  it,''  he  grumbled  as 
the  flames  died  down.  "Fm  getting  stung  be'ind 
and  burned  in  front.  I'm  off!"  and,  throwing 
the  paper  down,  he  fled. 

Struggling,  shoving  and  waving  their  arms 
about,  the  men  hustled  along  the  narrow  alley. 
Two  soldiers  scrambled  up  over  the  top  out  into 
the  open,  but,  being  seen  by  the  enemy,  a  brisk 
rifle  fire  was  opened  on  them  and  they  fled  back 
into  their  wasp-infested  shelter  again. 

At  this  point  Sergeant  Snogger  was  heard. 
Seeing  two  men  rushing  out  into  the  open  field 
waving  their  arms  over  their  heads,  he  stared  at 
them  open-mouthed  and  rubbed  his  eyes  with 
both  hands.  A  hidden  sniper  had  been  potting 
at  the  parapet  for  days !  .  .  .  .  The  action  was 


The  Trenches  179 

not  in  keeping  with  trench  discipline;  in  fact  if 
the  men  did  not  return  immediately  they'd  ''be 
damned  unlucky !" 

''Back!  Ye  fools,  come  back!"  he  yelled. 
"Wot  the  blazes— was  that !" 

The  Vv^asp  swept  past  his  face  like  a  spent  bul- 
let, swung  back  again  and  stung  him  on  the  fore- 
head. A  second  caught  him  on  the  neck,  a  third 
on  the  arm.     He  turned  and  ran. 

For  Flanagan,  he  was  unlucky  enough  to  have 
his  puttees  off  when  the  stampede  started,  and 
in  a  few  moments  a  wasp  had  got  up  the  leg  of 
his  trousers.  It  stung  him  half-a-dozen  times 
before  he  squashed  it  to  pulp  .... 

What  happened  when  the  Irish  rushed  into  a 
Highland  regiment  on  the  right  must  be  left  to 
the  reader's  imagination.  Never  before  had  the 
Gael  been  so  conscious  of  the  nakedness  of  his 
knees.  He  gave  vent  to  his  wrath  in  vehement 
words  and  it  was  found  difficult  to  ascertain 
whether  his  anger  was  directed  against  the  wasps 
or  the  men  w^ho  were  responsible  for  their  com- 
ing. 

Was  it  at  the  hundredth  traverse  or  the  thou- 
sandth that  the  effectives  of  the  besetting  force 
lost  an  appreciable  amount  of  intensity?  That 
was  a  matter  for  conjecture,  but  this  alone  is 


i8o  The  Brown  Brethren 

known.  A  jar  of  marmalade  which  got  over- 
thrown in  a  bay  enticed  the  insects,  and  many 
stopped  to  feast  on  the  disbanded  treasure.  But 
a  few  followed  with  unabated  ardour ;  these  were 
counter-attacked  and  destroyed,  and  afterwards 
the  soldiers  bombed  the  ''Bay  of  the  Broken  Jar'' 
with  a  certain  amount  of  success. 

The  Irish  strode  back  defiant  and  alert,  ready 
for  anything.  But  the  wasps  gave  no  further 
trouble;  here  and  there  one  or  two  were  seen 
poised  in  air  over  a  line  of  sandbags,  but  these 
fled  at  the  approach  of  the  men. 

The  dug-out  in  which  they  had  originally  en- 
trenched was  left  in  complete  seclusion  for  the 
rest  of  the  day,  and  at  night  Bowdy  and  his  two 
mates  approached  the  place  in  slow,  methodical 
order.  They  found  the  wasps'  nest  in  a  corner 
of  the  wall  and  poured  two  mess-tins  of  boiling 
water  on  it.  A  third  mess-tin  remained  but  it 
was  not  needed. 

'We'll  'ave  a  drop  of  char  now,"  said  Bubb. 
"The  evenin's  gettin'  cold  now  and  we  want 
somefing  'ot." 

''Righto!"  said  Bowdy.  "I'll  light  a  fire  in 
here  now  that  the  wasps  are  gone." 

He  lit  a  fire,  boiled  the  water  and  made  the 
tea.    Outside  a  sniper  was  potting  at  the  roof 


The  Trenches  i8i 

of  the  dug-out.  He  had  been  sniping  all  day, 
from  where,  none  could  determine. 

"Wonder  what  he's  doing  it  for,''  Bowdy  asked 
as  he  sat  down  and  reached  for  the  mess-tin 
which  was  bubbling  merrily  on  the  brazier. 
''He'll  never  pot  one  of  us." 

Even  as  he  touched  the  mess-tin  a  bullet  ri- 
cochetted  off  the  parapet  outside,  hissed  into  the 
dug-out  and  pierced  the  bottom  of  the  mess-tin. 
The  tea  poured  out  and  extinguished  the  fire. 

*'Well,  that's  past  a  joke,"  Bowdy  muttered. 
"Blow  me  blind  if  I'm  not  going  out  to-night  to 
let  daylight  through  that  boundering  Boche." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  SNIPER 

I'll  teach  you,  you  bounder,  to  snipe, 

For  I'm  nosing  around, 

With  my  face  to  the  ground. 
And  a  round  in  the  breach  of  my  hipe. 

You'd  best  keep  a  blurry  look-out, 

For  there's  no  end  of  trouble  about— ^ 

With  a  round  in  the  breach, 

I  am  going  to  teach 
You,  you  impudent  sniper,  to  snipe. 

(From  ''The  Deadly  Breach,") 

HAVING  blackened  his  face  with  a  burnt 
cork,  Bowdy  Benners  fixed  his  sword  on 
his  rifle  and  clambered  over  the  parapet 
into  No  Man's  Land.  The  hour  was  midnight; 
the  darkness  had  settled  on  the  firing  line  and 
the  starshells  were  rioting  in  the  skies.  Al- 
though the  day  had  been  hot  and  bright  the  sky 
was  now  covered  with  clouds,  not  a  star  was  vis- 
ible and  objects  quite  near  at  hand  could  scarcely 
be  distinguished.  The  air  was  warm  and  still 
and  not  a  blade  of  grass  was  moving.  The  only 
sound  which  Bowdy  Benners  could  hear  was  the 

dull  rustle  of  his  own  clothes  as  he  crawled  across 

182 


The  Sniper  183 

the  level  ground  on  all  fours  making  his  way 
towards  the  German  lines. 

Bowdy  was  out  on  a  great  project,  an  adven- 
ture after  his  own  heart.  For  many  days  the 
German  had  been  potting  at  Cologne  sector,  but 
none  had  been  able  to  locate  the  position  of  the 
sniper.  One  thing,  however,  was  evident:  he 
was  stationed  somewhere  in  No  Man's  Land. 
The  German  trenches  were  hidden  behind  a  hil- 
lock and  the  English  trenches  were  immune  from 
observation  from  that  quarter. 

Bowdy  crawled  carefully  forward,  his  eyes 
alert  and  his  ears  strained  for  any  untoward 
sound.  Now  and  again  a  flash  would  light  up 
the  levels  in  front  and  he  could  hear  a  bullet  sing 
past  his  ears  towards  the  sector  which  he  had 
just  left.  But  the  flash  was  deceptive  and  lights 
were  very  misleading  in  the  darkness.  The 
sniper  took  care  to  fire  only  when  a  starshell  held 
the  sky  above  him.  In  this  way,  the  flash  of  the 
rifle,  merging  as  it  did  into  the  flare  of  the  star- 
shell,  could  hardly  lay  claim  to  a  separate  exist- 
ence. 

'Tm  not  going  to  find  him,"  muttered  Bowdy 
Benners  under  his  breath.  'It's  like  looking  for 
a  needle  in  ...  .  Blimey!  That  was  a  near 
go." 


184  The  Brown  Brethren 

A  bullet  swept  past  Bowdy's  head  with  such  a 
vicious  hiss  that  he  put  up  his  hand  to  feel  if  it 
had  touched  him.     But  he  was  unharmed. 

"Blow  me  blind!"  he  muttered,  and  crawled 
forward  hurriedly.  "Blow  me  stone  blind  if  that 
wasn't  a  near  go.  The  bounder  can't  see  me," 
he  thought.  "I  haven't  blackened  my  face  for 
nothing." 

He  continued  crawling  stealthily  on  his  stom- 
ach, dragging  his  rifle  after  him.  Every  move- 
ment was  made  softly,  but  to  Benners  the  sound 
of  his  trousers  rubbing  on  the  grass  seemed  to 
carry  out  as  far  as  the  German  trenches.  Now 
and  again,  as  he  lay  still  and  stared  at  the  level 
in  front,  he  thought  he  could  discern  something 
moving.  Then  he  would  remain  absolutely  mo- 
tionless for  a  few  minutes,  listening  and  watch- 
ing. But  all  was  quiet ;  nothing  to  be  heard  save 
the  wind  rustling  and  a  stray  mouse  running 
through  a  little  clump  of  bracken  ahead. 

The  sniper  had  become  very  quiet  now;  his 
rifle  had  not  spoken  for  several  minutes. 

"He'll  be  having  a  kip,"  Bowdy  thought,  and 
got  to  his  feet. 

The  long  crawl  had  made  his  knees  sore  and 
his  feet  felt  numb.  Standing  upright,  he  placed 
his  rifle  between  his  knees  and  stretched  his  arms. 


The  Sniper  185 

The  light  of  the  last  star  shell  had  died  away,  the 
circle  of  horizon  had  grown  smaller  and  in  the 
near  distance  objects  stood  out  weirdly  silhou- 
etted with  a  blurred,  though  definite  outline.  It 
was  then  that  several  starshells  went  up  together 
and  the  open  was  lit  with  the  brilliance  of  day. 
In  the  glaring  light  Benners  saw  the  sniper.  He 
was  standing  barely  a  dozen  yards  away,  his  hand 
resting  on  his  rifle.  Benners  could  see  that  he 
had  his  sword  fixed  and  the  steel  shone  brightly. 

'I'll  make  him  a  prisoner,"  Benners  said  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  made  at  the  man  as  a  hawk 
swoops  on  a  lark. 

The  sniper  heard  Benners  approach,  turned  his 
eyes  and  sprang  up  to  a  position  of  defence. 

''Has  he  a  round  in  the  breech?''  Benners 
asked  himself.     "Shall  I  fire  at  him  or  not?" 

Even  as  he  approached,  Bowdy  saw  the  Ger- 
man raise  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder  and  a  sharp 
report  rang  out.  Bowdy  blinked  at  the  flash,  but 
the  bullet  went  wide. 

"I'll  settle  you,"  he  said  in  a  loud  voice,  and, 
rushing  up,  he  thrust  his  bayonet  forward.  The 
sniper  parried  it  and  for  a  moment  there  was  a 
brisk  duel,  then  Bowdy  saw  an  opening  for  a  left 
point,  a  favourite  of  his,  which  had  never  failed. 
Now,  however,  it  did  not  work.    The  sniper 


1 86  The  Brown  Brethren 

stepped  to  the  right;  by  a  deft  move  brought  his 
own  bayonet  point  downwards  to  the  ground  and 
Bowdy  tripped  across  it  in  the  rush  forward  and 
went  to  earth. 

''Blow  me  blind!"  muttered  Bowdy  as  he  fell, 
and  made  a  wild  effort  to  secure  his  own  rifle 
which  had  slipped  out  of  his  hands.  But  in  this 
he  was  unsuccessful;  the  darkness  had  fallen  and 
the  weapon  had  disappeared.  No  doubt  it  was 
lying  quite  near,  but  there  was  little  time  at 
Bowdy's  command  to  scrutinise  the  field  around 
him. 

One  hope,  however,  remained.  As  Bowdy  fell 
his  legs  had  managed  to  close  around  the  Ger- 
man's rifle  and  the  barrel  of  the  weapon  was  held 
in  a  vice-like  grip.  Bowdy  was  the  strongest 
man  in  the  regiment ;  he  was  a  grand  man  on  the 
march,  and  on  the  mat  a  wrestler  second  to  none. 
On  march  or  mat  he  had  no  equal.  He  held  the 
rifle  taut  for  a  moment,  and  in  war  the  moment 
is  often  of  supreme  importance.  As  the  German 
endeavoured  to  pull  the  bayonet  clear,  Bowdy  let 
go  his  hold,  got  to  his  feet  and  gripped  the  man 
by  the  shoulders.  For  a  second  both  wrestled 
fiercely  and  as  they  panted  and  strained  the 
weapon  dropped  to  the  ground.  Neither  bent  to 
lif<^  it.     A  star  shell  rose  into  the  heavens  and  the 


The  Sniper  187 

Englishman  had  a  clear  view  of  the  sniper.  He 
could  see  that  he  was  deep-chested,  unshapely, 
bearded 

He  glared  at  Benners  with  malignant  eyes, 
and  his  lips  twisted  into  a  snarl  that  almost 
reached  his  heavy  brows.  ''You  haf  no  chance 
with  me,"  he  grunted.  "I  am  wrestler  on  Eng- 
lish music  halls."  Then,  with  a  yell,  he  struck 
out  with  both  fists  for  Benners'  head,  and  Bowdy, 
wise  with  the  wisdom  born  of  a  thousand  aching 
contests,  ducked  and  dodged,  just  in  time  to  evade 
the  blow  to  the  head  and  the  kick  which  the  sniper 
aimed  for  his  stomach.  Followed  a  mad  tussle 
of  flying  fists  and  swiftly  moving  bodies.  Then 
came  an  instant's  lull,  and  the  fighters  clutched 
one  another  in  a  tense  embrace;  Benners'  hand 
resting  on  the  sniper's  face,  the  sniper's  fist  on 
Benners'  stomach. 

Breaking  from  the  clinch,  Benners  stepped 
backwards  only  to  return  again  with  a  heavy  left- 
handed  blow  which  took  his  opponent  full  on  the 
jowl ;  the  German  never  winced. 

''A  damned  professional  wrestler!"  muttered 
Benners  and  instinctively  he  knew  that  he  had 
met  a  man  who  would  take  any  amount  of  beat- 
ing. 

Benners  crouched,  his  left   foot  a  trifle  ad- 


i88  The  Brown  Brethren 

vanced;  his  head  drawn  down  well  between  his 
shoulders  and  shielded  by  one  of  his  hands.  The 
other  hand  covered  his  stomach.  The  sniper 
paused  irresolute  for  a  moment,  then,  with  tiger- 
like fury,  he  swung  into  his  man,  striking  out 
rapidly  with  both  fists.  Guarding  his  body  care- 
fully, Benners  waited,  ready  for  an  opening,  and 
when  he  saw  his  way  he  drove  heavily  with  both 
hands  for  the  sniper's  mouth.  The  two  blows 
went  home;  the  German  stepped  back  several 
paces,  his  mouth  dripping  with  blood.    Both  had 

now  forgotten  about  their  bayonets Rage 

took  possession  of  the  sniper,  a  terrible,  murder- 
ous rage,  and  he  was  upon  Benners,  striking 
out  with  his  knees,  fists  and  boots.  Benners 
crouched,  holding  his  body  compactly  together 
and  covered  his  face  and  stomach  with  his  hands. 
For  two  minutes  he  struggled  to  endure.  His 
enemy  was  well-nigh  resistless,  and  all  the  rage 
and  cunning  of  the  tiger  were  loose  in  the  man. 
Benners  went  to  the  ground  and  was  twice  kicked 
as  he  curled  over  in  an  endeavour  to  rise,  but 
seizing  a  chance  he  gripped  his  opponent's  ankle, 
and  brought  him  heavily  to  the  ground. 

They  fastened  on  to  one  another  as  they  lay 
and  still  in  embrace  they  got  to  their  feet.  As 
they  stood  Bowdy  got  his  hand  free  and  hit  the 


The  Sniper  189 

sniper  across  the  mouth.  As  if  by  mutual  con- 
sent they  broke  apart  and  the  sniper  devoted  the 
fraction  of  a  second  to  wipe  his  mouth.  Then  he 
rushed  in  again  and  Benners  backed  round  to 
save  himself  from  a  furious  onslaught  of  sting- 
ing blows.  The  German,  vital  and  overwhelm- 
ing, seemed  to  be  in  his  element.  All  the  essence 
of  passion,  hate  and  elemental  madness  found 
expression  in  this  onslaught.  Thrice  a  twelve 
yard  circle  of  ground  was  covered,  Bowdy  fight- 
ing gamely  but  ever  giving  backwards.  His 
body  and  face  were  now  covered  with  blood ;  and 
his  hands  went  up,  not  in  battle,  but  almost  in 
mute  protest  against  a  crushing  fatalism.  The 
terrible  charges  of  the  sniper,  the  lightning 
thrusts  of  the  man's  fists  were  wearing  Bowdy 
down.  Suddenly  the  German,  over-confident, 
struck  out  for  his  opponent's  head,  leaving  his 
stomach  unguarded,  and  Bowdy  saw  his  chance 
and  took  it.  A  heavy  swing  of  his  left  fist 
landed  on  the  space  between  the  ribs  that  fork 
outwards  from  the  breastbone,  and  the  sniper 
curled  up  and  dropped  like  a  wet  rag  to  the 
ground.  Bowdy  fell  beside  him  and  the  two  men 
lay  together,  quiet  as  sleeping  children. 

Bowdy  turned  over  on  his  back  and  breathed 
deeply  for  a  space,  then  stumbled  to  his  feet. 


190  The  Brown  Brethren 

*'I  wish  I  had  my  bayonet,"  he  muttered,  rub- 
bing his  hand  over  his  brow.  'It's  a  fight  be- 
tween two  of  us,  a  fight  to  death  ....  By  God! 
he  can  fight,  too.  But  no  wonder ;  he's  a  wrest- 
ler.    And  I  feel  done  up.'' 

Bowdy  felt  very  weary.  His  head  was  spin- 
ning and  he  had  great  difficulty  in  standing  up- 
right. He  had  one  consolation,  however.  The 
sniper  was  in  as  bad  a  state  as  he  was.  He 
looked  down  with  vague  eyes  at  the  man  and  saw 
that  he  was  recovering  from  his  blow  and  the 
fighting  devil  was  still  strong  within  him.  Grop- 
ing his  way  to  his  feet,  the  sniper  assumed  an 
attitude  of  defence. 

''Come  on !"  said  Bowdy  in  an  energetic  tone. 
"I  have  no  time  to  waste  and  I  cannot  strike  ye 
when  ye're  sickly  like  that.  Man !  Ye  should  be 
ashamed  of  yerself.     Fighter  indeed!" 

"English  pig-dog"  grunted  the  sniper  and 
sweltering  into  a  tornado  of  incoherent  threats 
which  the  Englishman  could  not  understand,  he 
swept  Bowdy  round  in  a  ring  and  landed  light-* 
ning  blows  several  times  in  quick  succession.  All 
the  man's  enormous  vitality  seemed  to  have  been 
rekindled,  a  million  beasts  of  prey  were  loose  in 
his  body.  Benners,  struggling  fiercely  in  an  en- 
deavour  to   live   through    the   tempest   of   his 


The  Sniper  191 

enemy's  wrath,  groped  for  a  clinch  and  swept 
into  its  embrace.  Here  he  was  safe  for  a  mo- 
ment and  hoped  that  the  German  would  consume 
his  strength.  In  this  anticipated  waste  of  the 
opponent's  strength  lay  Benners'  hope  of  success. 
Leaning  his  chin  on  the  German's  shoulder  he 
had  a  moment  to  look  round. 

Unreality  and  ghostliness  lay  over  No  Man's 
Land  and  an  uncanny  atmosphere  settled  on  the 
levels.  Away  down  by  Loos  a  bombardment  had 
commenced  and  the  red  flashes  of  the  guns  lit  up 
the  restless  salient.  Near  at  hand  could  be  seen 
a  barbed  wire  entanglement,  probably  the 
enemy's. 

Benners  saw  the  flashes  of  the  shells  and  asked 
himself  what  the  time  was.  He  felt  that  he  had 
been  fighting  for  hours  and  it  appeared  to  him 
that  he  could  never  get  the  business  to  an  end. 
The  sniper  seemed  stronger  than  ever  now;  the 
man  was  surging  with  life  and  mad  with  hatred. 
He  was  a  fiend,  incarnate,  terrible.  Bowdy 
wondered  vaguely  as  he  snuggled  his  head  over 
the  sniper's  shoulders  if  the  man  was  tired,  if 
he  felt  that  the  contest  had  lasted  long  enough. 

As  in  answer  to  the  unspoken  thought,  the 
German  ducked  and  caught  his  man  by  the 
ankles  and  tried  to  raise  him  to  his  shoulders. 


192  The  Brown  Brethren 

Vaguely  it  drifted  into  Benners'  mind  that  the 
German  intended  to  throw  him  head  foremost 
into  the  wires  and  he  shuddered  slightly  and  bent 
to  resist  the  efforts  which  his  opponent  made  to 
grip  him. 

For  fully  ten  minutes  both  men  swayed  un- 
steadily as  Benners  disputed  every  inch  of  the 
ground  on  the  way  towards  the  entanglement. 
The  sniper  was  irresistible,  and  step  by  step  he 
urged  his  man  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  horrible 
barbs.  Bowdy  now  knew  what  the  man's  inten- 
tions were  and  he  summoned  up  all  his  strength. 
The  blood  from  a  gashed  eyebrow  was  blinding 
him,  but  instinctively  he  did  his  utmost  to  press 
forward  in  an  opposite  way  to  that  by  which  the 
sniper  was  taking  him.  Clutching  and  straining, 
he  resisted  gamely  until  suddenly  he  felt  himself 
lifted  clean  from  the  ground  and  resting  on  the 
German's  shoulders.  There  was  a  hurried  rush 
towards  the  wires,  the  sniper  holding  on  with  all 
his  strength  and  Bowdy  struggling  to  break  free. 
One  of  his  hands  stretched  over  the  German's 
shoulders  and  Bowdy  closed  his  fist  and  began 
to  thump  the  man  on  the  back.  With  a  yell  of 
rage,  the  sniper  bent  down,  then  straightened  his 
back  quickly  and  flung  Bowdy  from  him.  But  he 
had  miscalculated  his  throw  and  Bowdy,  landing 


The  Sniper  193 

on  his  feet,  had  escaped  from  the  danger  that 
threatened  him.  But  only  for  a  moment.  His 
man  was  upon  him  again  and  the  Englishman 
was  flung  with  a  crash  into  the  barbed  contrap- 
tion of  war.  Bowdy  was  up  in  a  flash;  his 
clothes  torn  and  his  body  aching,  and  he  was 
upon  the  sniper  striking  out  fiercely  for  his  stom- 
ach, landing  four  lightning  blows.  His  opponent 
went  down,  falling  like  a  log,  and  lay  still. 

Benners,  maimed,  sore  and  bleeding,  fixed  an 
imperturbable  stare  on  a  rising  starshell  and  the 
stare  slowly  resolved  itself  into  a  weary  smile. 
For  fully  two  minutes  he  stood  thus,  silent,  with 
one  eye  (the  other  had  been  bunged  up)  fixed  on 
the  scene  in  front,  the  barbed  wire  entangle- 
ments, and  the  enemy's  trench  which  showed 
clearly,  barely  eighty  yards  away. 

"God,  it  was  a  fight!''  he  muttered.  ''A 
damned  hard  fight.  I  suppose  I  must  have  a 
look  around  for  my  bayonet  now.  And  a  pro- 
fessional wrestler  too." 

At  that  moment  half  a  dozen  dark  forms  took 
shape  on  Bowdy's  right.  An  enemy  patrol  prob- 
ably !  Bowdy  lay  down  quietly,  rubbed  his  eyes 
and  listened.  Nothing  could  be  seen  now  and 
nothing  could  be  heard  save  the  deep  breathing 
of  the  sniper.     **I  hope  he  doesn't  come  to  and 


194  The  Brown  Brethren 

kick  up  a  row/*  said  Bowdy  in  a  whisper.  "I 
can't  fight  a  dozen  with  my  fists;  one  was 
enough." 

Something  rustled  on  the  ground  near  him  and 
a  head  appeared  rising  over  the  dark  grass. 
Then  a  second  head  came  into  view  and  a  third. 
The  men  were  crawling  towards  Bowdy  and  were 
now  very  near. 

Then  a  voice  spoke  in  a  low  whisper. 

"Blimey!"  it  said;  "there's  nuffink  'ere.  I 
think  there's  the  German  wires." 

"That  you,  Spudhole?"  Benners  whispered. 

"Oo's  that?"  came  the  answer.  "You, 
Bowdy  ?'^ 

"That's  right,"  said  Benners,  getting  to  his 
feet.  "Don't  make  a  noise.  Where  are  you 
coming  to?" 

"We're  looking  for  your  body,"  said  Spudhole, 
standing  upright.  "Gawd !  We  thought  ye  wor 
dead.     Wot  'ave  ye  been  doin'  ?" 

"I've  been  fighting,"  said  Bowdy.  "Had  a  bit 
of  a  row  with  this  man  lying  here." 

"  'E  looks  as  if  'e's  been  in  the  wars,"  said 
Snogger,  who  was  leading  the  search  party.  "By 
Gawd,  ye  'ave  been  knockin'  'im  about  .... 
I  suppose  we'll  'ave  to  carry  'im  back." 

"Do  whatever  you  like  with  him,"  said  Bowdy. 


The  Sniper  195 

"ril  not  be  able  to  help.  It'll  be  as  much  as  I 
can  do  to  carry  myself  in." 

The  party  got  back  to  the  trench  an  hour  later. 
The  sniper  was  searched  and  in  his  pockets  was 
found  in  addition  to  other  things,  his  own  photo- 
graph taken  when  he  had  appeared  on  the  Eng- 
lish music  halls  as  a  professional  wrestler. 

He  was  carried  down  to  the  dressing-station 
on  a  stretcher ;  Bowdy  Benners  walked  down,  and 
both  men  were  treated  by  the  same  M.O. 

A  month  later  Bowdy  got  a  clasp  to  his 
D.C.M. 


CHAPTER  XV 

TATERS  AND   VASELINE 

Rations  enough  to  go  round; 
Rations  enough  to  go  round; 

Gawd,  it's  enough ! 

And  it's  horrible  stuff; 
But  still  there's  enough  to  go  round. 
(From  "The  Song  of  the  Best  Fed  Army") 

IN  the  village  the  houses  were  fractured  by 
high  explosive  shells,  the  windows  were 
paneless  and  the  doors  latchless,  chimneys 
had  been  hurled  to  the  ground  and  pounded  to 
dust.  Now  in  the  Summer  it  was  sad  to  see  the 
fallen  homes  of  the  little  people,  especially  in 
these  days  soft  with  sunshine,  glorious  days  when 
men  whispered  to  themselves  secretly:  ''How 
good,  how  very  good  it  is  to  be  alive."  The  mad 
vitality  of  life  exulted  itself  amidst  scenes  of 
demolition  and  decay;  young  blood  pulsed 
warmly,  the  quick  walked  through  the  barren 
streets  of  the  village,  young  men  pleased  with 

their  vigour  and  their  calling.     Man  values  ex- 

196 


Taters  and  Vaseline  197 

istence  in  haunts  where  he  holds  insecure  pur- 
chase of  life. 

A  solitary  violet  peeped  coyly  out  from  be- 
tween two  bricks  which  topped  a  heap  of  rubble 
by  the  roadway  near  the  church.  The  heap  of 
rubble  had  once  been  a  home.  The  cataclysm 
of  continents,  the  hatred  of  kings,  the  mustering 
of  armies,  the  thunder  of  guns,  were  all  needed 
in  the  making  of  this — a  mean  little  nook  on  a 
rubble  heap  where  a  modest  violet  blossomed. 

Like  cats  to  their  accustomed  haunts  the  na- 
tives clung  to  their  village  and  braved  danger 
and  death  in  preference  to  exile.  But  now  in  the 
day  of  big  things  the  authorities  removed  the  vil- 
lagers and  sent  them  back  to  localities  further 
away  from  the  firing  line. 

The  villagers  left  the  place  without  a  moan; 
placid  fatalists  who  had  lived  and  died  midst  the 
thunder  of  a  thousand  guns;  they  accepted  the 
change  mutely  and  left  in  silence  their  native 
place  when  ordered  to  do  so.  They  took  away 
much  of  their  portable  property  and  left  much  of 
it  behind.  On  the  eve  of  Lammas  Day  Spudhole 
Bubb  caught  two  homeless  chickens  fluttering 
despairing  wings  outside  the  estaminet  La  Con- 
corde in  the  village. 

"  'Ow  am  I  to  kill  these  'ere  h'animals  ?"  he 


198  The  Brown  Brethren 

asked  Bowdy  Benners,  who  accompanied  him. 
Bowdy's  face  still  bore  the  marks  of  his  encoun- 
ter with  the  German  sniper. 

'Tut  a  bullet  through  them,"  answered  Bowdy, 
looking  at  the  chickens. 

'That'll  blow  'em  to  blazes,"  said  Bubb. 

''Then  wring  their  necks." 

'"Ow?" 

"Like  this,"  said  Bowdy  getting  hold  of  a 
water-bottle  by  the  neck  and  swinging  it  round 
his  head. 

"IVe  a  better  plan,"  said  Bubb  gazing  at  the 
door  of  the  estaminet.  "You  open  that  there 
door  and  Til  'old  the  neck  of  the  'en  against  the 
jamb.  I'll  say  'One!  two!  free!'  And  at  the 
word  'free'  you  swings  the  door  wiv  a  bang 
against  the  post  an'  you'll  snick  the  neck  of  a  'en 
like  winkin'." 

The  operation  was  performed  with  great  suc- 
cess, the  chickens  were  decapitated  and  Bubb's 
thumb  was  bashed  into  an  ugly  purple. 

"That's  a  go,"  he  muttered.  "Not  much-  of  a 
gyme  killin'  chickens  like  this." 

"Not  much  of  a  gyme  indeed,"  said  Bowdy. 
"But  they'll  make  a  good  meal,  these  fowl." 

"An'  there's  a  bloomin'  dawg  too  as  was  left 


Taters  and  Vaseline  199 

behind/'  said  Bubb,  pointing  his  finger  at  the  top 
window  of  the  estaminet. 

It  was  looking  down  at  the  two  soldiers,  a  lean 
dog  with  plaintive  eyes  and  a  queer  crooning  cry 
which  said  as  plainly  as  any  doggie  can  say: 
''Take  me  away  from  this  place." 

"Why  doesn't  it  come  down  the  stairs?''  asked 
Bowdy  Benners. 

'Why?"  said  Bubb.  "'Cos  there  ain't  no 
stairs;  they've  been  blown  away  by  a  shell." 

"Then  we've  got  to  get  the  poor  thing  down," 
said  Bowdy. 

"  'Ow?"  asked  Bubb,  then  without  giving  Ben- 
ners time  to  answer,  he  said :  "Oh,  I  knows  'ow. 
There's  a  ladder  round  the  corner.  We  put  it 
up  and  take  the  beggar  down." 

Raising  the  ladder  they  placed  it  against  the 
window  sill,  clambered  up  and  rescued  the  dog 
which  they  placed  on  the  street.  Then  Bowdy 
and  Bubb  went  up  the  ladder  again  and  entered 
the  room. 

"What's  that  thing  under  the  bed?"  asked 
Bowdy  who  had  noticed  a  dark  bundle  on  the 
ground. 

Bubb  peeped  under  and  drew  back  his  head  as 
suddenly  as  if  somebody  had  given  him  a  blow 
on  the  face. 


200  The  Brown  Brethren 

"It's  a  dead  bloke,"  he  said.     'Xet's  get  out." 

They  reached  the  street  to  find  the  dog  lying 
on  the  pavement  wagging  its  tail. 

*lt's  so  pleased  with  us,"  said  Bowdy.  "It 
might  have  died  with  hunger  up  there." 

"Pleased!"  echoed  Bubb.  "The  damned  un- 
grateful swine!    Take  that,  and  that!" 

The  two  kicks  were  neatly  delivered  on  the  ani- 
mal's hindquarters  and  it  rushed  off,  howling. 

"Ate  our  two  blurry  chickens  and  us  rescuin' 
'im.  Anyway  we've  the  taters.  We'll  get  back 
to  the  trench  and  cook  'em." 

"I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  you,"  said  Bowdy. 
"But  I'll  run  down  to  Rentoul  and  get  a  bottle  of 
champagne.     I've  a  few  francs  to  spare." 

On  reaching  the  trenches  Bubb  found  Flana- 
gan just  finishing  a  good  dinner  of  fried  pota- 
toes and  onions. 

"Blimey,  I've  taters,  lots  of  'em  and  if  you  give 
me  some  h'onions  I'll  make  myself  a  bit  of  a 
feed,"  said  Bubb  to  Flanagan.  "I  do  feel  empty 
inside." 

"Yes,  I've  got  some  onions  to  spare,"  said 
Flanagan.     "Are  you  going  to  cook  now  ?" 

"I'm  goin'  to  cook  now,"  said  Bubb,  "but  I 
want  some  lard  or  something  greasy  for  f ryin'." 

"Good  idea,"  said  Flanagan. 


Taters  and  Vaseline  201 

"What  did  you  fry  the  taters  in?''  asked  Bubb. 

"Oh,  I  fried  them  in — vaseHne,"  was  Flana- 
gan's reply. 

"Git  out!" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"Truth?" 

"Oh,  it's  quite  true,"  Flanagan  lied,  "you 
should  try  it." 

"So  I  will,"  said  the  simple  Bubb,  and  so  he 
did.  He  used  a  whole  box  of  vaseline,  frying 
his  taters  on  a  mess-tin  lid  placed  over  a  little 
fire  at  the  base  of  a  traverse.  He  ate  his  por- 
tion with  great  zest,  vowing  that  he  never  had 
had  a  better  repast  in  all  his  life.  Part  of  the 
feed  he  kept  for  Bowdy. 

Flanagan,  delighted  with  the  little  joke,  told 
Sergeant  Snogger  how  Spudhole  Bubb  had  used 
vaseline  in  frying  potatoes.  Snogger  came  up  to 
Bubb  as  the  latter  sat  smoking  a  Woodbine  in 
the  corner  of  the  dug-out. 

"Spudhole  Bubb,"  he  said,  "what's  wrong  with 
ye?" 

"Wiv  me?"  asked  Bubb.  "There's  nuffink 
wrong  wiv  me." 

"Ye're  lookin'  very  pale,"  said  Snogger.  "I 
never  saw  a  man  look  as  bad.  Have  ye  had  no 
dinner?" 


202  The  Brown  Brethren 

"No  dinner !"  exclaimed  Bubb.  "I  'ad  the  best 
meal  ever  I  'ad." 

**It  can't  have  agreed  with  you,"  said  Snogger. 
"You  look  as  white  as  a  ghost." 

The  sergeant  walked  away  and  Flanagan 
poked  his  head  through  the  door. 

"Good  God,  Bubb!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  has 
happened  to  you  ?" 

"'Appened  to  me!"  said  Bubb.  "Nuffink, 
man.     Wot  gyme  are  yer  up  to?" 

"No  game  at  all,"  said  Flanagan.  "But  you 
look  bad.  You  should  go  and  see  the  doctor  this 
evening." 

Bubb  looked  in  the  little  mirror  which  he  al- 
ways carried  about  with  him  (he  was  really  a 
devil  for  the  girls),  and  he  thought  that  he  was 
looking  white. 

"But  I  don't  feel  bad,"  he  said  to  Flanagan. 

"You  mayn't  feel  bad,"  said  the  Irishman, 
"but  by  heaven !  you  look  bad.  Is  it  yer  nerves 
that  are  givin'  way?" 

"I've  no  nerves,"  said  Bubb. 

Bowdy,  who  had  just  returned,  was  the  next 
to  pass  a  remark  on  Bubb's  condition. 

"What  has  happened  to  you,  matey?"  he 
asked.     "You  look  like  a  dead  hen." 

"I'm  orl  right,"  said  Bubb,  but  there  was  a 


Taters  and  Vaseline  203 

note  of  concern  in  his  voice.  *1  'ad  the  best 
dinner  ever  I  'ad  a  moment  ago.  There's  some 
left  for  you." 

''Has  it  disagreed  with  you?"  asked  Bowdy. 
'What  kind  of  dinner  was  it?" 

"Taters  and  h'onions  fried  in  vaseHne,"  was 
Bubb's  reply.  "The  same  taters  that  we 
got " 

"Vaseline !"  Bowdy  repeated,  "Vaseline ! 
Vaseline !" 

"Wot's  wrong  wiv  vaseline?"  Bubb  enquired. 

"What's  wrong  with  it,  man,"  said  Bowdy, 
"everything's  wrong  with  it.  Devil  blow  me 
blind,  it's  poison,  pure  poison.  No  wonder 
you're  looking  white." 

Bubb  cast  an  imploring  look  on  Bowdy.  He 
was  now  evidently  frightened. 

"I  do  feel  something  wrong  with  me  inside," 
he  said. 

"I  will  see  the  M.O.  this  evening." 

Bubb  had  a  temperature  that  evening,  whether 
due  to  fright  or  the  ill  effects  of  potatoes  fried 
in  vaseline  it  was  impossible  to  say.     The  doctor 

sent  him  back  to  the  hospital  at  ,  a 

shell-stricken  town  where  the  wounded  were  con- 


204  The  Brown  Brethren 

fined  to  cellars  before  going  further  back  from 
the  firing  line. 

Wrapped  in  blankets,  Bubb  went  to  sleep  on 
the  floor,  and  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morning 
he  woke  up  and  looked  around  him.  A  candle 
stuck  on  the  cold  ground  burned  timidly  and  big 
black  shadows  lurked  in  the  corners  of  the  apart- 
ment. Opposite  Bubb  an  R.A.M.C.  orderly  sat 
on  a  biscuit  box  dozing,  the  unlighted  stump  of 
a  cigarette  between  his  fingers.  Near  Bubb  an- 
other patient  lay  asleep,  his  mouth  wide  open, 
and  his  knees  hunched  up  so  that  they  formed  a 
little  hill  that  dominated  the  cold  clammy  floor  of 
the  cellar. 

Spudhole  looked  up  at  the  roof  where  the  light 
played  in  little  ghostly  ripples.  As  he  watched, 
a  spider  slipped  out  of  a  hole  directly  overhead 
and  dropped  slowly  down  towards  his  face.  In 
the  half  light  the  spider  looked  an  immense  size 
and  its  legs  spread  out  as  if  endeavouring  to 
clutch  something.  Fascinated  Bubb  watched  it 
draw  nearer,  nearer,  until  it  almost  touched  his 
face. 

"Git  out  ye  lobster  r 

He  raised  his  hand  as  he  spoke  and  aimed  a 
blow  at  the  insect  and  missed.  The  spider 
clambered  up  again  and  disappeared. 


Taters  and  Vaseline  205 

"'Blast  the  bloomin'  thing!"  he  muttered  and 
turned  on  his  side.  ''Oh,  bUmey!  ....  Good 
mornin' !" 

A  large  toad  was  sitting  on  the  corner  of  his 
blanket,  a  mere  hand's  breadth  away,  and  look- 
ing at  him  with  a  pair  of  big  glistening  eyes.  For 
a  moment  the  man  and  the  toad  looked  fixedly 
at  one  another,  then  the  toad  hopped  away  and 
disappeared  round  the  corner  of  the  bed. 

"Well,  blimey,"  said  Bubb,  cuddling  up  in  the 
clothes  and  trying  to  sleep.  He  was  unsuccess- 
ful for  his  mind  followed  the  toad.  "Where  'as 
it  gone?"  he  muttered.  "Spiders  as  big  as  lob- 
sters, and  toads  as  big  as  helephants.  This  'ere 
place  is  'aunted.  Now  where  'as  that  'ere  ver- 
min gone  ?" 

He  turned  round  on  his  side  and  again  his 
gaze  fell  on  the  toad.  The  thing  had  ascended 
the  hill  formed  by  the  knees  of  Bubb's  mate,  and 
there  on  the  eminence  it  sat,  its  eyes  fixed  on  the 
open  mouth  of  the  sleeper. 

"Blimey!  It's  goin'  to  jump  in,"  said  Bubb. 
"Raise  the  foresight  a  little  you  bounder  and 
'op  I  ...  .  Ten  to  one  that  you  miss  it." 

Moodily  contemplative,  the  toad  sat  silent,  its 
big  shining  eyes  fixed  on  the  cavern  in  front. 

"Jump,  you  beggar !"  yelled  Bubb,  shouting  at 


2o6  The  Brown  Brethren 

the  top  of  his  voice.  ''One  good  'op  and  you'll 
score  a  bull." 

He  fell  into  a  paroxysm  of  mirth;  the 
R.A.M.C.  orderly  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes,  lifted 
the  cigarette  end  which  had  fallen  to  the  floor, 
put  it  in  his  mouth,, and  came  across  to  Bubb. 

'What's  amusin'  you,  chummy?"  he  asked. 

"The  spider  and  the  toad,"  said  Bubb.  "A 
big  lobster  of  a  spider  and  then  the  toad.  It's 
tryin'  to  jump  into  the  man's  mouth.  Look 
there !    Ten  to  one  it  misses !" 

"That's  all  right,"  said  the  orderly  with  a 
bland  smile  of  understanding.  "You  just  lie 
down  quietly  and  try  and  have  a  little  sleep." 

"But  the  toad,"  Bubb  remonstrated.  "It's 
just  goin'  to  jump." 

"I  know,  I  know,"  said  the  orderly.  "I  see 
it  myself.  But  try  and  compose  yourself, 
chummy." 

"But,  man,  it's  real,"  said  Bubb  sitting  up. 
"Look  yourself  and  you'll  see  it.  Don't  think 
I'm  off  my  napper." 

"I  don't  think  anything  of  the  sort,"  said  the 
orderly  still  smiling.  "I  often  see  things  'ere, 
myself.  You  lie  down  again  and  you'll  be  as 
right  as  rain  in  the  morning." 

He  put  his  fingers  on  Bubb's  pulse,  held  them 


Taters  and  Vaseline  207 

there  for  a  moment,  then  pressed  the  boy  gently 
back  into  the  blankets. 

"I  tell  you  there's  a  toad/'  said  Bubb,  strug- 
gling to  get  up  again.  'Xook  at  that  man  lyin' 
there  and  see  the  toad  on  'is  .knees.  It's  goin'  to 
'op  into  the  bloke's  mouth  in  a  minute." 

To  humour  the  patient,  the  orderly  looked  as 
he  was  directed  and  sure  enough  there  was  the 
toad,  a  real  one,  not  a  phantom  originating  from 
the  disordered  imagination  of  a  sick  man,  perched 
on  the  knees  of  the  sleeping  patient. 

"So  there  is,"  said  the  orderly.  "I  thought 
you  were  delirious,  matey.  Well,  we'll  put  the 
thing  out,"  he  said  and  shoved  it  off  the  blanket 
on  to  the  floor. 

''Ye're  not  a  sport,"  said  Bubb  and  his  voice 
was  charged  with  contempt.  'Why  didn't  you 
let  it  'op  ?  I  was  bettin'  on  it.  Now  my  bloom- 
in'  toad  'as  gone.  Bet  yer  it'll  not  come  in  again 
either,"  said  Bubb  sadly. 

'Til  bet  you  it  doesn't,"  said  the  orderly,  but 
in  a  different  tone. 

Bubb  returned  to  his  regiment  three  days  later, 
a  healthy  and  wiser  man.  Afterwards  he  would 
never  take  part  in  a  conversation  wherein  vase- 
line was  mentioned,  but  the  sight  of  a  frog  al- 


2o8  The  Brown  Brethren 

ways  brought  memories  of  toads  to  his  mind,  and 
all  conversation  had  to  be  cut  dead  until  Bubb 
had  narrated  for  the  hundredth  time  the  tale  of 
a  toad  in  a  cellar. 


CHAPTER  XVI  • 

THE  ROOKY 

What  awaits  you,  boy,  out  yonder,  where  the  great  guns 

rip  and  thunder. 
There's  a  menace  in  their  message,  guns  that  called  you 

from  afar. 
But  where'er  your  fortune  guide  you  may  no  woe  or  ill 

betide  you — 
Heaven  speed  you,  little  soldier,  gaily  going  to  the  war. 

(From  "Soldier  Songs") 

THE  Stifling  heat  of  the  summer  day  had 
given  place  to  the  coolness  of  night  and 
a  big  moon  rode  gallantly  amidst  the 
stars  of  the  dark  blue  eastern  sky.  A  search- 
light felt  the  country  with  a  long,  pale  arm,  light- 
ing up  the  road,  village  and  wood  for  miles 
around;  a  galaxy  of  starshells  stood  over  the  fir- 
ing line  where  the  meteoric  flashes  of  bursting 
shells  rioted  along  the  horizon  of  war. 

Back  in  a  village  by  La  Bassee  canal  lights 
shone  in  the  windows  of  houses  and  through  the 
chinks  of  shutters.  The  poplars  which  lined  the 
village  streets  showed  black  and  solitary  against 

the  red-brick  cottages,  their  shadows  stretched 

209 


210  The  Brown  Brethren 

straight  along  the  pavement  spreading  out  to  an 
intricate  tracery  of  tremulous  boughs  which 
moved  backwards  and  forwards  as  the  soft  night 
breeze  caught  them  ....  The  moonlight  rip- 
pled over  the  roofs,  the  walls,  and  the  grey,  dusty 
road ;  the  canal  lapped  sleepily  against  its  banks ; 
soldiers  walked  up  and  down  the  streets  smok- 
ing, laughing  and  chatting;  women  came  out 
from  the  cottages  bearing  pails  which  they  placed 
under  the  pumps  and  filled  with  water.  All 
was  peaceful  here,  only  twice  had  the  village  been 
struck  by  shells  and  then  the  roofs  of  two  houses 
had  been  shattered.  In  twenty- four  hours,  how- 
ever, the  willing  hands  of  the  villagers  had  made 
the  roofs  whole  again. 

In  the  attic  of  a  dwelling  that  stood  by  the 
riverside,  a  party  of  soldiers,  three  in  all,  were 
billeted.  The  boys  were  in  a  gay,  good  humour, 
for  the  day  had  been  pay  day  and  two  bottles  of 
champagne  had  been  bought  and  the  second  bot- 
tle had  just  been  opened. 

Bowdy  Benners  was  there,  sitting  on  a  bundle 
of  straw  under  the  niche  in  which  a  candle  was 
placed,  surveying  the  newly-drawn  cork  with  a 
lazy  smile,  his  hands  under  his  thighs  and  his 
short,  powerful  legs  stretched  out  in  front  to 
their  fullest  extent.     He  was  dressed  in  shirt. 


The  Rooky  211 

trousers  and  socks,  his  braces  were  tied  round  his 
waist,  his  hairy  chest  was  bare,  and  his  identity 
disc  tied  round  his  massive  neck  with  a  piece  of 
twine  was  almost  hidden  in  the  hair. 

Opposite  him  sat  Harry  Bubb,  nothing  the 
worse  after  his  tater  and  vaseline  meal.  A 
bright  sparkle  was  in  his  alert  eyes,  his  legs  were 
crossed  and  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand  kept 
strumming  idly  on  the  floor.  His  right  hand 
gripped  a  mess-tin  which  he  pushed  towards  the 
champagne  bottle  in  a  slow,  guileless  manner  as 
if  he  was  doing  it  knowingly. 

Flanagan  was  there,  stripped  to  the  waist  and 
rubbing  his  body  with  a  towel.  He  had  been  out 
through  the  village  and  had  just  come  back, 
sweating  profusely.  He  had  eaten  at  a  cafe 
round  the  corner  and  made  a  study  of  ''the  move- 
ments of  masticating  jaws"  as  he  expressed  it. 

"It's  damned  interesting  to  watch  people  eat," 
he  said.  "Some  eat  slowly  as  if  deliberating 
whether  they  should  swallow  the  food  or  spit  it 
out,  some  eat  quickly,  trippingly  as  it  were,  and 
some  gorge.  Those  who  eat  slowly  keep  their 
mouths  shut,  those  who  eat  quickly  show  their 
teeth  all  the  time,  and  those  who  gorge  simply 
gorge.  We  were  sitting  at  a  long  table  and  I 
was  at  the  end  of  the  seat.     I  had  a  look  along 


212  The  Brown  Brethren 

the  line  of  moving  jaws  rising  and  falling,  at  the 
man  next  to  me  having  a  canter  .  .  .  ." 

"A  canter?"  queried  Bubb. 

**Yes,  a  canter  round  his  teeth  with  his 
tongue/'  said  Flanagan;  ''and  at  the  man  oppo- 
site whose  moving  jaw  shook  his  ears  until  I 
thought  they  would  fall  off !'' 

Flanagan  got  no  further  with  his  chatter.  The 
door  opened,  Sergeant  Snogger  entered  followed 
by  a  stranger,  and  glanced  keenly  about  him. 

"Watch  that  candle,"  he  said;  "it  will  fall 
down  on  the  straw  and  burn  the  whole  damned 
place  out  if  you  are  not  careful.  And  that  win- 
dow, what  about  it?  The  light's  showing  froo 
and  you'll  have  a  shell  across  'ere  if  you're  not 
careful.     You're  not  at  'ome  now,  boys." 

"  'Aven't  been  in  Blighty  for  eighteen  months, 
sarg,"  said  Bubb  blandly. 

"I've  got  a  new  mate  for  you  fellows,"  said 
the  sergeant,  paying  no  heed  to  Bubb's  remark. 
"  'E  'as  just  come  out  an  'e's  for  this  'ere  sec- 
tion ....  And  another  thing,"  he  said,  "I 
s'pose  you  think  yourselves  lucky  gettin'  your 
pay  to-day  and  gettin'  a  good  night's  sleep  to- 
night after  fillin'  your  guts  with  grub  and  fizz. 
Don't  you,  now?" 

"Yes,  of  course,"  Bubb  assented. 


The  Rooky  213 

"Well,  you're  damned  unlucky/'  said  the  ser- 
geant. "We've  got  ter  go  up  ter  the  trenches 
ter-night." 

"Blimey!"  "Damn!"  "Curse  it!"  Three 
voices  yelled. 

"We're  startin'  off  as  soon  as  we  can,  so  get 
ready,"  said  the  sergeant.  "Every  man  wipe  'is 
wifle  wiv  a  woily  wag  'fore  'e  goes,  for  'e  may 
need  it  'fore  'e  comes  back  ....  Buck  to  when 
you  give  me  a  wet  and  get  ready." 

They  gave  the  sergeant  a  drink  and  started  to 
pack  up  their  things.  Only  when  they  had  fin- 
ished and  sat  down  to  wait  for  the  call  to  move 
had  they  time  to  pay  any  attention  to  the  new 
mate,  the  boy  who  had  just  come  out  from  home. 

He  had  helped  them  at  the  making  up  of  their 
kits,  oiled  their  rifles  and  rushed  out  to  the  bak- 
er's shop  near  at  hand  and  bought  two  loaves  to 
take  up  to  the  trenches.  When  he  returned,  the 
others  were  sitting  on  the  floor  waiting  for  him. 

He  came  in  with  a  brisk  step,  placed  the  loaves 
on  the  floor  and  looked  at  his  mates.  In  carriage 
he  had  a  certain  individual  grace,  and  his  face, 
good-looking  and  youthful,  wore  an  expression 
of  intense  expectation.  A  traveller  within  sight 
of  a  long-sought  objective  might  look  as  that 
boy  did.     His  age  might  be  about  nineteen,  he 


214  The  Brown  Brethren 

looked  seventeen.  When  he  saw  the  men  look- 
ing at  him,  he  smiled  awkwardly  and  blushed  as 
if  he  had  been  found  guilty  of  a  mean  action. 

"Well,  wot  dyer  fink  of  it?"  asked  Bubb. 

''Of  this  place?"  asked  the  boy. 

''No,  not  of  this  place,  but  the  'ole  blurry  busi- 
ness," said  Bubb;  "o'  this  'ere  war." 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  the  war,  but 
I  love  being  out  here,"  said  the  boy,  putting  his 
hand  in  his  pocket  and  bringing  out  a  packet  of 
cigarettes.  "I  couldn't  get  out  before;  my 
mother  spoke  to  the  authorities  back  in  England, 
and  I  couldn't  get  away  until  I  was  nineteen." 

"And  ye're  glad  to  be  out  'ere?"  asked  Bubb 
in  an  incredulous  voice,  then  added:  "Of  course 
you  are.  I  was  dyin'  ter  get  out  'ere  myself  .  .  . 
But  I  know  where  I'd  like  ter  get  now  .  .  . 
Thanks,  matey." 

Spudhole  put  the  cigarette  in  his  mouth  and 
the  newcomer  lit  it  with  a  match.  He  gave  the 
others  cigarettes  also  and  lit  the  last  three  with 
the  same  match;  the  stranger  was  the  third 
smoker.  This  was  not  discovered  until  it  was 
done. 

"Devil  blow  me  blind !"  exclaimed  Bowdy  Ben- 

ners.     "He  lit  his  cig "     Then  he  stopped, 

and  a  moment's  silence  ensued. 


The  Rooky  215 

"It's  always  unlucky,"  said  Spudhole.  '*D'ye 
mind  old  Stumpy  .  .  .  ." 

"Hold  your  row,  you  old  woman  V  Benners  ex- 
claimed. 

"The  superstition  is  a  modern  one,"  said 
Flanagan,  blowing  the  smoke  of  a  cigarette 
through  his  nostrils.  "Invented,  I  suppose,  by 
Bryant  and  May's  to  increase  the  output  of 
matches." 

"But  wot  about  old  Stumpy?"  asked  Bubb. 

"Stumpy  be  damned !"  exclaimed  Benners,  who 
was  seldom  moved  to  such  a  state  of  excitement. 
"Hold  your  jaw,  Spudhole." 

"So  we're  going  up  to  the  trenches  to-night," 
said  the  newcomer  in  an  eager  voice. 

"Yes,  we're  going  up,"  said  Flanagan  mood- 
ily. "It's  always  going  up.  I  suppose  you'll  be 
quite  pleased  going  into  action  for  the  first  time." 

"Delighted,"  said  the  boy,  and  his  hearers 
chuckled  at  the  frank  admission. 

"It's  young  blood  and  not  knowin'  things  that 
makes  you  say  that,"  said  Bubb,  shaking  his  head 
with  an  air  of  wisdom  at  which  his  mates  would 
have  laughed  if  their  rest  had  been  assured  for 
another  week.  But  now  as  they  sat  there  wait- 
ing for  the  signal  to  move  up  to  the  fighting  Hne 


2i6  The  Brown  Brethren 

which  they  knew  so  well,  it  was  a  different  mat- 
ter  

The  talk  turned  to  England;  the  newcomer, 
whose  name  was  Frank  Reynolds,  had  much  to 
tell  about  home,  his  people,  his  life  at  school,  and 
above  all,  about  his  life  in  the  Army.  He  was 
the  only  child  of  a  head  clerk  in  a  London  Bank, 
his  father  had  died  recently,  and  now  only  the 
mother  remained  at  home.  She  lived  in  Hamp- 
stead,  and  was  rather  well  to  do,  having  money 
left  to  her  by  a  rich  relative.  She  was  very  fond 
of  her  boy  and  would  send  him  parcels  twice  a 
week. 

''No  cigarettes,  though,"  said  Reynolds. 
"She  doesn't  know  that  I  smoke,  and  I  daren't 

tell.     It    would   hurt   her I    learned    to 

smoke  since  I  joined  the  Army ;  just  about  three 
cigarettes  a  day." 

"I  could  smoke  that  many  when  drinking  my 
tea,"  said  Bubb. 

Conversation  ceased  at  that  moment,  for  the 
whistle  was  blown  in  the  street  and  the  soldiers 
were  forming  up  preparatory  to  moving  off  to 
the  trenches. 

The  battalion  set  off  and  marched  along  the 
road  by  the  river,  company  after  company,  with 
little  connecting  files  in  between.     Not  the  slight- 


Th^  Rooky  217 

est  breeze  was  awake,  the  river  was  silent,  and 
the  tall,  graceful  poplars  which  lined  their  route 
looked  blacker  and  straighter  than  usual.  They 
seemed  to  have  gone  to  sleep  even  as  they  stood. 
The  whole  world  was  in  repose,  the  battalion's 
movement  was  a  sacrilege  against  the  gods  of 
the  still  night. 

The  very  trenches  were  quiet  now,  the  artillery 
riot  had  died  down  and  only  a  few  starshells  rose 
into  the  mysterious  heights  of  the  eastern  sky. 
The  company  in  front  set  up  a  brisk  pace  which 
required  long,  quick  strides  to  follow.  Benners' 
section  turned  of?  from  the  river  and  marched  up 
a  steep  incline  to  the  top  of  a  low  hill  opening 
out  on  a  wide,  far-reaching  plain,  which  under 
the  pale  moonlight,  looked  more  immense,  and 
merged  as  it  seemed  into  the  distant  sky. 

Here  and  there  a  tall  chimney  stack  stood  high 
in  air,  dark  shadows  clinging  to  its  base  in  start- 
ling contrast  to  the  moonlight  which  rippled  like 
molten  silver  over  the  top.  A  thin,  white  mist 
trailed  across  the  meadows  in  long,  formless 
streaks,  bunching  in  the  hollows  and  breaking 
away  on  the  open.  The  air  was  full  of  the  smell 
of  water  and  mist  and  growing  grass,  in  short, 
of  the  atmosphere  of  a  summer  night. 

Smoking    w^as    not    allowed.     The    enemy's 


2i8  The  Brown  Brethren 

trenches,  miles  away  though  they  were,  looked 
down  on  the  road,  and  the  glowing  cigarette  ends 
might  be  noticed.  Then  the  road  would  be 
shelled 

Spudhole  and  Reynolds  marched  side  by  side, 
with  Flanagan  and  Bowdy  Benners  immediately 
in  front.  From  time  to  time  they  spoke  of  one 
thing  and  another,  more  especially  about  their 
hard  luck  in  not  getting  a  month's  rest  which 
had  been  promised  to  them  for  some  time.  They 
had  expected  to  go  back  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, but  instead  it  looked  as  if  they  were  going 
to  spend  the  morrow  and  a  few  other  morrows 
in  the  trenches. 

"Just  our  luck,"  said  Flanagan.  "It's  always 
the  same,  always  and  eternally  the  same  damned 
grind.'* 

"Why  do  they  send  up  green  lights?"  asked 
Reynolds  in  a  whisper,  and  added,  "They  do  look 
pretty." 

"Pretty!"  laughed  Bubb.  "If  you  was  up  in 
the  trenches  now  you'd  'ear  some  pretty  lang- 
widge.  They're  signals  for  the  artillery  to  bust 
up  a  dug-out  or  two,  them  green  lights." 

"Who's  sending  them  up?"  asked  Reynolds. 

"Us,  maybe,"  said  Bubb,  "and  again  maybe 


The  Rooky  219 

it's  not  us.  No  one  ever  knows  wot's  wot  in  this 
'ere  job.     It's  always  a  muddle." 

*'But  it's  quiet  enough  now,"  said  Reynolds. 
**How  far  are  we  from  the  trenches?" 

"About  three  miles." 

The  battalion  entered  a  village  and  marched 
up  a  wide  street  towards  the  full  moon.  The 
companies  in  front  looked  like  dark,  compact, 
heavy  masses  which  did  not  seem  to  move  but 
which  could  not  be  overtaken.  A  pump  on  the 
pavement  was  running  and  the  water  glittered 
like  burnished  silver  as  it  fell  to  the  cobbles.  A 
shutter  hung  loose  on  a  window  and  a  woman 
came  out  and  tried  to  fasten  it,  moving  quietly 
as  if  afraid  to  make  a  noise.  Reynolds  was  sur- 
prised to  find  a  woman  up  so  late ;  it  was  almost 
midnight  now 

"This  place  is  quiet  enough,"  said  Reynolds, 
speaking  to  Bubb.     "One  wouldn't  think  that  the 

place  was  so  near  the  trenches Do  they 

ever  fire  at  this  village?" 

"Sometimes,"  said  Bubb,  "at  the  other  end 
There!" 

The  deep,  bass  note  of  a  bursting  explosive 
swept  through  the  village,  awaking  myriad  long- 
drawn  echoes,  and  died  away. 


220  The  Brown  Brethren 

"Shelling  in  front,"  said  Flanagan  in  a 
trenchant  whisper. 

"I  hope  it's  not  the  road,"  said  Bubb. 

"I  don't  think  it's  the  road,"  said  Bowdy  Ben- 
ners.  "It  sounded  to  the  left  a  bit.  But  you 
can't  tell  with  the  echoes." 

But  further  conversation  was  then  impossible; 
the  battalion  formed  into  two  files  and  plodded 
ahead Round  the  next  corner  Frank  Rey- 
nolds came  in  touch  with  the  war.  A  limber  lay 
in  the  middle  of  the  street  shattered  to  pieces,  the 
two  ponies  and  the  driver  dead,  and  a  sluggish 
trail  of  something  dark  crawling  away  from  the 
scene  of  the  wreck.  Instinctively  the  boy  knew 
that  he  was  looking  on  blood  and  a  queer  sensa- 
tion gripped  the  pit  of  his  stomach.  At  the  same 
moment  he  thought  of  the  woman  who  was  try- 
ing to  close  the  shutters  two  hundred  yards  away 
and  a  feeling  of  shame  swept  through  his  heart. 

"Am  I  afraid?"  he  asked  himself.  "And  a 
woman  going  on  with  her  work  beside  me  just  as 
if  nothing  was  happening." 

The  R.A.M.C.  were  already  at  work,  not  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  limber,  for  there  all  help  was 
useless,  but  on  the  pavement  under  the  shadow 
of  the  poplars  where  four  or  five  men  were  lying 
down,  wounded  and  groaning. 


The  Rooky  221 

Here  the  village  had  suffered,  the  houses  were 
crumpled  and  shattered,  the  tiles  had  been  flung 
off  the  rafters,  the  walls  were  smashed,  the  trees 
on  the  pavement  were  cut  to  splinters.  Big  holes 
showed  in  the  streets  and  over  all  the  ruin  and 
destruction  the  moon  shone  calmly  and  the  stars 
glimmered.  But  the  atmosphere  of  the  night 
had  changed ;  a  strange  pungent  odour  filled  the 
air,  and  Reynolds  knew  that  he  was  smelling  the 
battlefield. 

''I  must  not  tell  mother  about  this,"  he  said. 
"If   she   knew   she   couldn't   sleep   a   wink   at 

night I  never  thought I  suppose 

there  will  be  worse  sights '' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

YOUNG  BLOOD 

Over  the  top  is  cold,  matey; 

You  lie  on  the  field  alone — 

Didn't  I  love  you  of  old,  matey, 

Dearer  than  blood  of  my  own? 

You  were  my  dearest  chum,  matey, 

(Gawd,  but  your  face  is  white) 

And  now,  though  reliefs  have  come,  matey, 

I'm  going  alone  to-night. 

(From  "Soldier  Songs") 

AT  one  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  London 
Irish  were  in  occupation  of  the  trenches ; 
the  battaHon  which  they  had  relieved 
were  just  moving  away.  Reynolds'  section  were 
lucky  enough  to  find  a  dug-out,  and  here  they 
threw  down  their  loaves  and  other  luxuries  which 
the  Government  had  not  supplied. 

"Now  we  must  make  ourselves  as  comfortable 
as  we  can,"  said  Flanagan  as  he  lit  a  cigarette. 
**I'm  for  a  sleep  until  it's  my  turn  for  sentry." 

Snogger,  who  came  to  the  dug-out  door  at 
that  moment,  heard  the  remark  and  chuckled. 
Having  some  work  to  do  which  needed  volun- 

222 


Young  Blood  223 

teers,  he  saw  scope  for  his  peculiar  type  of  hu- 
mour. 

"Coin*  to  'ave  a  kip,  Flanagan  ?"  he  asked  in  a 
gentle  voice.     "Turnin'  in  fer  a  spell?'' 

''Just  for  awhile/'  said  Flanagan;  "an  hour  or 
two." 

'Well  ye're  damned  unlucky,"  said  the  ser- 
geant with  a  chuckle.  "We're  goin'  ter  raid  the 
henemy's  trenches.  We  want  to  see  what  they're 
doin'.  Indefication  purposes  ye  know.  They're 
too  damned  quiet  'ere.  And  you  know  when  the 
German  is  keepin'  quiet  ye've  got  to  oil  yer 
hipe." 

The  section  was  up  and  alert  in  an  instant; 
anticipation  flushed  every  face. 

"I'm  in  this  'ere  game,"  said  Bubb  in  a  vehe* 
ment  voice.     "Larst  time  I  was  out  o'  it." 

"All's  in  it,  that  is,  every  man  in  this  platoon 
'cept  them  just  out,"  said  the  sergeant.  "They'll 
stay  'ere  an'  mind  the  'ouse  while  we're  away." 

"I'm  going  out  in  the  raid,"  said  Reynolds  in 
an  eager  voice.     "I  want  to  be  in  the  fun." 

"Yer  do,  do  yer?"  asked  the  sergeant,  scratch- 
ing his  head.  "Ye  never  do  wot  ye  want  in  this 
'ere  crush,  my  boy,"  he  bellowed.  "Ye  just  do 
wot  I  tell  you;  an'  you'll  find  that  quite  enuff, 
'fore  ye're  'ere  very  long.     If  ye  do  wot  I  tell 


224  The  Brown  Brethren 

you  and  do  it  well  ye're  all  right.  Til  make  it 
easy  for  you.     That's  me,  Snogger." 

Reynolds  lay  back  against  the  wall  of  the  dug- 
out, his  fair,  youthful  face  lit  by  the  glow  of  the 
candle  which  Flanagan  had  just  placed  in  a  niche 
of  the  wall.  The  boy  was  bitterly  disappointed; 
the  others  were  going  over  the  top  and  he  was  to 
be  left  alone.  He  opened  his  lips  to  say  some- 
thing and  his  voice  faltered ;  he  was  on  the  verge 
of  tears. 

"Is  there  any  means  of  getting  out  with  you?" 
he  asked.  "Couldn't  somebody  stay  back  and 
let  me  go  in  his  place  ?" 

"The  bloke  as  doesn't  want  ter  go  isn't  in  this 
'ere  regiment,"  said  Bubb. 

The  sergeant,  who  had  just  gone  outside,  re- 
turned carrying  a  tin  filled  with  a  substance  black 
and  soft  like  soot. 

"Now  boys,"  he  said,  as  he  placed  the  tin  on 
the  floor;  "cover  yer  faces  over  with  this  an'  be 
like  niggers.  A  white  face  can  be  seen  a  good 
distance  on  a  moonlight  night,  an'  if  ye're  seen 
on  this  'ere  job,  it'll  be  all  up  with  the  party — 
they'll  be  damned  unlucky. 

"An'  when  ye've  done  that,  get  arf  a  dozen 
bombs  apiece  and  bring  'em  wiv  you,"  the  ser- 
geant continued.     "Also,  get  some  brushwood — 


Young  Blood  225 

ye'll  find  it  out  'ere  ready  for  yer — and  ye'Il 
g'over  disguised  as  a  shrubbery.  We'll  crawl 
across,  get  up  to  the  German  trench  and  fling  the 
bombs  in.     Then  we'll  come  back  again,  the  'ole 

lot  of  us,  if  we're  lucky What  the  devil's 

that?" 

The  stretcher-bearers  brought  him  in  from  the 
trench,  a  rifleman  with  a  wound  showing  in  his 
shoulder,  and  placed  him  on  the  floor. 

"One  of  the  party  that  was  to  cross,"  said  the 
sergeant;  then  asked:     ''Much  'urt,  old  man?" 

"Not  much  wrong,"  was  the  reply  of  the 
wounded  man.  "I'm  sorry  I'm  not  in  the  raid. 
....  I  looked  across  and  then  my  shoulder 
burned " 

"Well,  I  must  get  another  man,"  said  the  ser- 
geant. "You'll  do,  Reynolds.  Get  yer  face 
blacked  and  get  some  bombs." 

The  men  set  to  work  in  the  dug-out  and  black- 
ened their  faces,  procured  their  bombs  and 
branches,  and  got  into  raiding  order.  In  ten 
minutes'  time  they  were  out  on  the  open,  thirty 
men  making  towards  the  German  trenches. 

Flanagan  lit  a  cigarette,  put  his  hands  in  his 
trousers  pockets  and  leant  his  back  against  the 
wall  of  the  dug-out.     Bubb  looked  at  him. 

"Yer   bloomin'    old   phizz    is    sooty   enough. 


Flan/'  he  said;  "but  yer  teeth  don't  arf  look 
white;  they'll  be  seen  miles  away." 

"I  suppose  I  should  black  them,"  said  Flana- 
gan. "It  would  be  for  my  own  good.  Natural 
selection  has  not  fashioned  me  for  this  war  en- 
vironment. Raiding  by  night  is  a  job  for  chim- 
ney sweeps.  They  could  walk  over  to  the  Ger- 
man trenches  and  they  would  not  be  seen  in  the 
darkness.  Darwin  would  be  very  interested  in 
these  raids.  If  he  saw  one  he  would  write  a 
treatise  on  Artificial  Selection  and  call  it  The 
Survival  of  the  Fittest  Disguised.  We  are  dis- 
guised; we're  one  with  the  night.  We  accommo- 
date ourselves  to  our  environment  like  the  fox 
that  changes  its  coat  to  white  when  the  snow 
comes." 

"These  'ere  branches  ain't  arf  a  barney,"  said 
Bubb,  who  understood  only  a  little  of  what  Flana- 
gan was  saying. 

"Birnam  Wood !  Copied  from  Macbeth,"  said 
Flanagan  with  an  air  of  scorn.  "There's  noth- 
ing new  in  the  world.  There  were  trenches  and 
dug-outs  at  the  siege  of  Sebastopol." 

Sergeant  Snogger  came  in  at  that  moment,  his 
body  festooned  with  bombs,  his  face  the  colour  of 
ebony.     He  looked  at  his  men. 

"Wot  are  yer  waitin'  for  ?"  he  asked.    "Gawd, 


ye  are  slummicky.  Come  on,  we've  got  to  get 
across  to-night.  To-morrow  won't  do  for  this 
'ere  job." 

The  party  went  out,  crossed  the  parapet  into 
No  Man's  Land  and  advanced  in  open  order, 
six  yards'  interval  between  each  man  and  his 
neighbour.  Reynolds  near  the  centre  of  the  line, 
had  Flanagan  on  his  right,  Bowdy  Benners  on 
his  left,  whilst  the  sergeant,  who  led  the  party, 
moved  warily  along,  a  few  yards  in  advance. 
From  time  to  time  he  halted  and  waited  for  those 
who  followed  to  come  abreast  and  issued  orders 
which  were  passed  from  the  centre  to  the  flanks 
in  whispers.  He  used  the  words  "damned  un- 
lucky" whenever  he  spoke. 

''Spread  out  from  the  centre,"  he  cautioned. 
''The  whole  party's  bunchin'  up.  If  the  henemy 
flings  some  dirt  across,  yer'll  be  damned  un- 
lucky." 

Again  he  gave  the  order   "Close  in  in  the 

centre!  You're  losing  touch.  Some  of  yer'll 
be  goin'  in  to  the  German  trench  all  alone;  then 
yer'll  be  damned  unlucky." 

Whenever  a  star-shell  rose  in  air,  the  raiders 
flung  themselves  flat  to  the  ground  and  waited 
for  the  flare  to  die  out.  As  they  went  down,  they 
placed  the  branches  over  their  heads  and  held 


228  The  Brown  Brethren 

them  there  until  the  order  to  advance  was  given. 
Lying  thus,  they  were  immune  from  discovery, 
for  an  enemy  patrol  ten  yards  away  would  mis- 
take the  prone  bundles  under  their  covering  of 
branches  for  derelict  bushes  which  the  fury  of 
incessant  shell  fire  had  spared. 

Star-shells  rose  at  frequent  intervals  from  the 
enemy  lines ;  the  British  sent  up  very  few.  This 
was  the  case  all  along  the  line.  The  enemy, 
in  eternal  dread  of  raids,  kept  up  a  continual 
watch  over  No  Man's  Land. 

The  party,  now  half  way  across,  lay  down,  for 
a  starshell  rose  from  the  German  trench,  stood 
high  and  lit  the  derelict  levels  with  the  brilliance 
of  day.  Then  oscillating  sleepily  from  side  to 
side,  it  dropped  a  myriad  petals  of  flame  and  sank 
lazily  to  earth. 

"They're  getting  the  wind  up,"  said  Bowdy 
Benners,  whispering  across  to  Reynolds.  "We'll 
have  some  dirty  work  'fore  we  come  back." 

The  boy  made  no  answer.  Lying  prone,  he 
listened  to  the  silence.  How  calm  it  was  under 
the  great,  glorious  moon.  The  levels  were  in 
a  dream,  a  dream  of  Fairyland,  and  everything 
save  the  star  shells  and  the  glint  of  light  that 
played  on  his  rifle  barrel  was  as  motionless  as 
though  in  a  realm  of  frozen  enchantment.    The 


Young  Blood  229 

night  drew  closer  to  the  boy ;  it  seemed  caressing 
his  young  head  and  body.  He  even  felt  sleepy. 
It  would  be  good  to  lie  there  and  rest. 

His  eyes  looked  out  in  front  on  a  dead  man 
who  lay  there,  scarcely  a  yard  away.  The  boy 
did  not  feel  afraid.  That  a  dead  soldier  should 
be  there  seemed  quite  natural,  in  keeping  with 
the  new  life  which  the  youth  had  entered. 

'1  suppose  he  was  killed  on  a  raid,''  he  thought. 
*'I  wonder  if  he  was  going  out  or  coming  back 
.  .  .  What  would  mother  .  .  .  ."  He  looked  at 
the  dead  soldier  with  a  fresh  interest  and  his 
eyes  filled  with  tears. 

He  saw  that  the  man  was  dressed  in  khaki 
and  he  lay  on  his  back,  his  knees  up  and  his  bayo- 
net pointing  in  air.  From  the  bayonet  standard 
to  the  man's  head  stretched  an  unfinished  cob- 
web on  which  the  spider  was  still  busily  working, 
fashioning  circle  and  line.  Under  the  moonlight 
the  web  was  a  brilliant  and  beautiful  dream 

"Come  out  o'  it,  Reynold,"  said  the  sergeant, 
who  was  annoyed  because  the  boy  had  not  heard 
the  first  order  to  advance.  '^Spread  out  a  Httle 
on  both  sides,  for  we've  got  to  keep  a  look-out 
for  a  henemy  patrol.     We're  not  out  on  a  six 

months'  tour  now,"  he  added.     ''If  yer  

think  so,  ye're  damned  unlucky." 


230  The  Brown  Brethren 

The  men  spread  out  at  the  double  and  lay  down 
again,  leaving  an  interval  of  some  twelve  yards 
between  each  man  and  his  neighbour.  Reynolds 
lay  flat,  his  hand  gripping  his  rifle.  Now  and 
then  a  breeze  rustled  across  the  levels,  set  the 
poppy  flowers  nodding  to  one  another,  and  died 
away  again.  The  smell  of  the  wet  grasses  and 
the  damp  earth  was  in  his  nostrils,  and  the  nar- 
cotic odour  of  the  soil  almost  lulled  him  into 
slumber. 

A  mouse  rustled  along  the  ground  in  front,  in 
and  out  amongst  the  nodding  poppy  flowers  and 
disappeared.  Near  him  somebody  stifled  a 
cough,  but  the  sound  struck  harshly  on  his  ears. 
Apart  from  that,  silence  and  suspense. 

He  lay  flat,  his  face  on  his  hands,  his  legs 
stretched  out  to  their  full  extent,  and  listened. 
Well  to  the  left  a  mate  whistled;  something  had 
aroused  his  suspicions,  probably  the  enemy  pa- 
trol. A  bird  rose  from  the  grass,  shrieking  as  if 
in  pain,  and  flew  away.  The  lights  died  out; 
the  level  fields  looked  deathlike. 

A  starshell  rose  up  to  the  sky  and  settled  over 
Reynolds'  head.  Under  its  light  the  country 
seemed  to  become  more  immense,  it  stretched  out 

on  all  sides  into  endless  distances He  lost 

consciousness  for  an  instant. 


Young  Blood  231 

'Well,  the  night  is  very  long  in  passing,"  he 
said  in  an  audible  voice,  opening  his  eyes  for  a 
moment.  '1  am  very  sleepy,  but  if  I  doze  off 
something  may  happen/' 

He  had  a  desire  for  something  exciting  to  take 
place,  something  that  would  keep  him  awake. 
He  even  felt  hungry,  and  did  not  particularly 
want  to  fight.  Even  a  sleepy  boy  does  not  like 
fighting  at  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  on  an 
empty  stomach  when  there  was  so  much  to  eat 
near  at  hand.  .  .  .  How  strange  that  he  had  not 
noticed  it  before.  Probably  he  had  been  looking 
in  the  wrong  direction.  But  there  out  in  front  in 
the  midst  of  the  poppies  stood  a  house  with  the 
windows  brilliantly  lighted  up  and  a  girl  standing 
at  the  door.  From  the  way  she  laughed  when  he 
approached  he  knew  that  she  was  glad  to  see  him. 
She  made  way  and  he  entered  the  dining-room, 
where  the  table  was  spread  out  for  dinner.  The 
food  was  not  laid  yet,  but  on  a  table  in  the  corner 
he  could  see  a  grand  array  of  steaming  dishes. 

'It's  splendid,"  he  said.  ''Not  like  army  stuff. 
It's  .  .  .  ." 

The  girl  whom  he  met  at  the  door  came  into  the 
room,  approached  the  table  in  the  corner,  and 
brought  over  a  plate  of  soup,  which  she  placed  in 


232  The  Brown  Brethren 

front  of  him.  He  looked  for  a  spoon,  but  could 
not  find  one. 

"YouVe  forgotten,"  he  said  to  the  girl.  *1 
haven't  got  a  spoon." 

'*How  stupid  of  me,"  she  replied.  'Tm  aw- 
fully sorry.  I  was  thinking  of  something  else. 
But  now  ril  get  a  spoon.  I  always  carry  a  spoon 
no  matter  where  I  go." 

"So  do  I,"  was  Reynolds'  answer.  "I  always 
carry  a  knife,  fork  and  spoon  in  my  pack. 
They're  gone  now." 

The  girl  disappeared  for  a  moment.  When 
she  came  into  the  boy's  world  again  she  carried 
a  spoon  in  her  hand. 

"This  is  for  you,"  she  laughed.  "It's  silver- 
plated  with  a  monogram — your  own  monogram." 

As  she  spoke  she  lifted  his  soup  and  rushed  off 
with  it. 

"Come  back  with  the  plate,"  cried  Reynolds, 
rising  to  his  feet.     "I  haven't  eaten  yet." 

"Don't  get  excited,"  she  called  back  over  her 
shoulder,  "I'll  pass  it  along  in  a  moment.  I'll 
pass  it  along,  pass  it  along." 

A  strange  harshness  had  crept  into  her  voice, 
and  the  youth  swept  back  into  reality.  The  man 
on  his  right  was  calling  to  him. 


Young  Blood  233 

'Tass  It  along,"  he  called  out  in  a  loud  whis- 
per.   'Tass  it  along." 

''What's  the  message  ?"  Reynolds  asked. 

''The  right  flank  reports  seeing  an  enemy  pa- 
trol," was  the  answer. 

The  boy  passed  the  message  to  the  left  but 
got  no  acknowledgment. 

"I  suppose  the  man  there  is  asleep,"  he  mut- 
tered,   "ril  go  along  and  see  him." 

He  lifted  his  rifle  and  stumbled  along  through 
the  gloom.  When  a  light  went  up  he  stood  still 
and  waited  for  the  darkness  to  resume  his  jour- 
ney. 

"Yes,  here  he  is,"  he  said,  when  a  flare  lit  up 
the  night  and  showed  him  a  figure  in  khaki  lying 
flat  on  the  ground.    "Asleep,  of  course." 

"Wake  up,  man,"  he  shouted,  when  he  reached 
the  motionless  figure,  bringing  his  hand  down 
with  a  smack  on  the  man's  back.  The  shoulders 
gave  way  beneath  the  force  of  the  blow.  His 
hand  seemed  to  sink  into  the  soldier. 

"Good  God !"  he  gasped.    "It's  a  dead  man." 

He  left  the  poor  thing  hurriedly,  found  a  man 
asleep,  woke  him  up,  delivered  the  message  and 
made  his  way  back  to  his  post. 

The  strange  experience  had  unnerved  him  and 
he  lay  down  again,  feeling  that  a  huge  dark  form 


234  The  Brown  Brethren 

was  standing  behind  him  watching  every  move- 
ment on  his  part.  A  breeze  had  risen  and  the 
waving  grasses  wailed  a  dirge  in  dismal  unison. 
From  somewhere  far  away  a  dog  whined  mourn- 
fully  The  order  to  advance  was  given. 

The  men  went  forward  at  the  double  for  a 
space  and  flung  themselves  down  flat  when  they 
reached  the  enemy's  barbed  wire  entanglements. 
Those  in  the  centre  of  the  party  could  not  get 
across;  the  wires  in  front  of  them  stood  sturdily, 
untouched  by  artillery  fire. 

"Lie  low,"  the  sergeant  whispered  to  Bowdy 
Benners,  "and  pass  the  word  along  to  the  left. 
Ask  them  if  there's  an  openin'.  The  same  mes- 
sage to  the  right." 

The  seconds  crawled  by  until  the  answer  came 
back  from  the  left.  "Opening  here.  Shall  we 
go  through  ?" 

"Pass  the  message  to  the  right  and  tell  them 
to  close  up,"  said  the  sergeant  to  Benners. 
"Also,  those  on  the  left,  get  through  and  lie 
down  on  the  other  side  of  the  wires  until  we 
join  them.    Pass  it  along." 

The  message  went  its  way  and  the  men  in  the 
centre  followed  it,  stumbling  and  crouching  low 
to  avoid  the  eyes  of  the  enemy  sentinels.  Reach- 
ing the  opening,  they  lay  down,  their  heads  under 


Young  Blood  235 

the  branches,  and  waited  for  the  party  to  close 
in. 

Reynolds  had  a  good  view  of  the  enemy's 
trench  as  he  lay  on  the  ground  a  dozen  yards 
away  from  the  reverse  slope  of  the  parapet.  He 
saw  the  sandbags  tilted  at  strange  angles  look- 
ing for  all  the  world  like  dead  men  huddled  to- 
gether in  heaps.  Immediately  in  front  lay  an 
unexploded  shell  perched  on  the  rim  of  a  small 
crater,  and  near  it  was  a  wooden  box  and  a  heap 
of  tins.  Somebody  in  the  trench  was  singing  a 
song  in  a  low  but  clear  voice.  The  night  was 
full  of  the  smell  of  burning  wood;  probably  the 

Germans  were   cooking  a   meal Bowdy 

Benners  and  the  sergeant  lay  in  front  of  Rey- 
nolds, immovable  as  statues, — both  might  have 

been  dead Benners  turned  slowly  round 

and  crawled  back  again  with  a  message. 

''When  the  sergeant  lifts  his  branch  and  holds 
it  over  his  head,  prepare  to  advance,''  he  whis- 
pered.   ''Get  your  bombs  ready  to  throw 

Pass  it  along  to  right  and  left." 

Fascinated  Reynolds  watched  the  sergeant, 
saw  him  lie  still  as  ever  for  a  full  minute,  then  he 
raised  the  branch  and  held  it  over  his  head  for  an 
instant,  brought  it  down  again  and  got  to  his  feet. 
As  one  man  the  party  rushed  forward  to  the  rim 


236  The  Brown  Brethren 

of  the  trench  and  began  to  fling  their  bombs  in 
on  the  occupants.  There  was  one  explosion,  then 
a  second,  a  third  and  a  fourth The  Ger- 
mans, taken  unawares,  raced  from  one  bay  to  an- 
other, but  the  bombers  waited  for  them  at  every 
turning.  In  their  eyes  the  attack  might  have 
been  delivered  by  an  army  corps.  Death  had 
crept  up  in  the  night  out  of  the  unknown.  Men 
fell,  yelled  in  agony,  and  became  silent,  their  white 
faces  showing  ghastly  on  the  floor  of  the  trench 
when  the  smoke  of  the  explosions  died  away. 

"Damned  good  work !  Keep  at  it,  boys !"  yelled 
the  sergeant,  standing  on  the  parapet  and  draw- 
ing a  pin  from  the  shoulders  of  a  bomb.  ''They're 
damned  unlucky  this  'ere  time." 

He  threw  his  missile  at  a  German  who  was 
trying  to  enter  the  door  of  a  dug-out,  and  stepped 
back  to  avoid  the  explosion. 

"Blimey,  it's  a  barney!"  said  Bubb,  looking 
down  in  the  trench.  He  had  come  to  his  last 
bomb,  and  wanting  to  "make  it  tell,"  he  threw  it 
into  a  dug-out  door  which  showed  in  the  wall  of 
the  parados.  Followed  an  explosion  accompanied 
by  agonised  yelling 

Twenty  yards  away  Reynolds  stood  on  a  sand- 
bag, a  bomb  in  his  hand,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  a  boy 
about  his  own  age  who,  crouching  against  the 


Young  Blood  237 

wall  of  the  trench,  was  looking  up  at  him.  Rey- 
nolds, full  of  military  ardour,  had  rushed  up  to 
the  attack  when  the  order  was  given,  and  was 
on  the  point  of  flinging  the  bomb  into  the  trench 
when  he  noticed  the  young  German  standing  mo- 
tionless, paralysed  with  fear.  Reynolds  raised 
the  bomb  with  the  intention  of  throwing  it,  then 
brought  it  down  again.  The  terrified  foe  fright- 
ened him.  In  the  heat  of  passion,  Reynolds  would 
have  killed  him,  but  to  take  away  the  life  of  that 
shivering,  terrified  creature  was  not  a  job  for 
the  youngish  newly-out.  He  gazed  at  the  Ger- 
man, the  German  returned  the  gaze,  perplexity 
looked  at  dread  and  became  horrified.  Killing 
was  not  an  easy  matter. 

Reynolds  drew  back  a  pace,  his  eyes  still  fixed 
on  the  foe.  The  battle  raged  around  him;  the 
flash  of  the  bursting  bombs  almost  blinded  him, 
the  explosions  shook  the  ground  ....  the  flying 
splinters  sang  through  the  air. 

Suddenly  the  order  to  retire  came  down  the 
line ;  a  brown  figure  rushed  up  to  Reynolds  shout- 
ing something  about  ''getting  out  o't,"  seized  the 
bomb  which  the  youngster  held  and  flung  it  into 
the  trench  on  the  youthful  German. 

The  party  retired  hurriedly;  their  work  was 
completed.     *'The  sooner  back  the  safer,''  the 


238  The  Brown  Brethren 

sergeant  yelled.  "They'll  open  up  a  machine 
gun  now  and  we'll  be  damned  unlucky  if  we  don't 
grease  back." 

Already  the  enemy's  rifles  were  speaking  and 
bullets  swept  by  with  a  vicious  hiss.  The  men 
stumbled  through  the  opening  in  the  barbed  wires 
and  rushed  into  the  levels.  Benners  and  Rey- 
nolds ran  out  together  chuckling,  pleasedl,  no 
doubt,  at  the  success  of  their  enterprise.  Bubb 
and  Flanagan  followed;  the  latter  had  lost  his 
rifle  and  vowed  that  he  was  always  unlucky. 

Suddenly  Reynolds  fell  headlong  to  the 
ground.  He  was  on  his  feet  immediately  and 
rushing  forward  again. 

"It's  the  damned  wires,"  said  Flanagan. 
"They're  scattered  all  over  the  place." 

As  he  spoke,  Reynolds  went  down  for  the  sec- 
ond time,  but  did  not  rise  again.  Benners  came 
to  a  halt  and  stooped  over  him. 

"Are  you  hit,  chummy?"  he  asked. 

"I  got  it  through  the  breast,"  the  boy  replied. 
"It  was  that  which  brought  me  down  the  last 
time,  not  the  wires." 

Reynolds  was  surrounded  now  by  his  com- 
rades. He  was  sitting  half  upright,  his  head 
sinking  towards  his  knees,  the  martial  elation  of  a 
few  minutes  ago  utterly  gone. 


Young  Blood  239 

"Well,  chummy,  you'll  be  all  right  in  time  for 
breakfast,"  said  Bubb,  who  expected  that  these 
words  would  buoy  up  the  youngster's  courage. 
But  Reynolds  seemed  to  pay  no  heed,  a  cold  and 
sorrowful  expression  settled  on  his  white  face, 
which  looked  strange  and  unearthly  in  the  light 
of  the  moon.  The  sergeant  cut  open  the  youth's 
tunic  and  looked  at  the  wound,  which  showed 
red  over  the  heart.  There  was  very  little  bleed- 
ing. 

'*0h!  you'll  be  all  right  in  no  time,"  said  the 
sergeant  in  a  voice  which  was  strangely  soft  and 
kind. 

*'No,  no,"  said  the  boy,  in  a  scarcely  audible 

whisper.  'Xeave  me  to  myself,  please I'D 

not  live  very  long It's  too  near  the  heart." 

These  were  the  last  words  which  the  men  heard 
him  speak.  Ten  minutes  later  he  had  passed 
away. 


*'I  knowed  it  would  pan  out  that  way,"  said 
Bubb,  as  he  sat  in  his  dug-out  two  hours  later 
drinking  hot  tea  from  his  sooty  messtin. 

It  was  dawn,  the  sun  came  up  red  in  the  east 
and  the  dewdrops  glittered  like  diamonds  on  the 
levels. 


240  The  Brown  Brethren 

"'Twas  the  same  wiv  old  Stumpy.  'E  was 
the  third  man  to  light  'is  fag  wiv  the  same  match," 
said  Bill.  ''Then  'e  went  up  to  the  trenches  an' 
'e  was  shot  dead." 

'It's  all  damned  rot,"  said  Flanagan.  "I 
knew  men  getting  killed  who  never  smoked  a 
fag." 

"I  had  a  feeling  that  Reynolds  was  going  un- 
der, anyway,"  said  Benners.  "And  he  was  such 
a  good  boy,  too." 

"I  liked  him  better  than  I  cared  to  say,"  said 
Flanagan.  ''He  was  as  eager  as  hell.  And  he's 
dead.  He  didn't  have  much  of  a  run  for  his 
money." 

"Takin'  it  all  in  all,  we're  not  so  blurry  badly 
off,"  said  Bubb.  "I  wunner  if  we're  goin'  ter 
get  relieved  soon.    I  'ope  so,  anyway." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

BATHING 

We  labour  in  the  trenches  with  rifle,  maul  and  spade, 
We're   soldiers,   cooks   and  carpenters,    and   everything  to 

trade ; 
We  stand  on  sentry-go  all  night  and  turn  to  kip  at  dawn, 
But  when  we're  dropping  off  to  sleep  it's  "Up  and  carry 

on"— 
For  it's  carry  on  and  carry  on  and  carry  on  all  day; 
They'll  make  us  carry  on  until  they  carry  us  away; 
It's  carry  on  the  whole  day  through,  at  dusk  as  well  as 

dawn — 
Oh  blimey!  will  they  never  stop  their  blooming  Carry  On! 

(From  "Carry  On") 

THE  road  by  La  Bassee  Canal  was  gritty 
and  dry  and  shone  like  a  thread  of  gold 
in  the  afternoon  sunlight.  The  Canal, 
dark  and  oily,  was  broken  by  hundreds  of  little 
petulant  ripples;  its  banks  were  red  with  poppy 
flowers.  Quiet  reigned  in  the  village  of  Gorre, 
where  the  London  Irish  were  quartered.  They 
had  been  out  digging  trenches  at  Cambrin 
the  night  before.  Having  been  relieved  from 
the  fighting  line,  two  nights  after  Reynolds' 
death,  they  were  now  supplying  working  parties 

to  the  trenches  near  La  Bassee.    In  the  present 

241 


242  The  Brown  Brethren 

war  the  pick  and  shovel  are  as  important  as  the 
rifle  and  bayonet. 

Bubb,  Flanagan  and  Bowdy  had  just  got  up 
from  the  straw  on  which  they  had  been  lying. 

'Xet's  have  a  bloomin'  dip  in  the  briny/'  said 
Bubb. 

'Xet's/'  said  Bowdy  and  Flanagan. 

The  trio  made  their  way  out  into  the  village. 
It  was  a  glorious  day.  The  sky  was  a  tender 
blue,  the  green  branches  of  the  poplars  which 
lined  the  street  waved  sleepily,  the  shadows  of 
many  little  clouds  glided  across  the  cobbled 
pavement.  To  eastward  other  little  clouas 
formed  suddenly  and  as  suddenly  paled  away, 
and  the  men  knew  that  an  artillery  duel  of  slight 
intensity  was  in  progress  by  Cuinchy. 

*'This  ain't  a  bad  place  for  a  billet,"  said  Bubb. 
"I  could  stick  'ere  for  duration." 

"We'll  soon  be  out  of  it  now,"  said  Flanagan, 
handing  round  a  packet  of  cigarettes.  ^'Captain 
Thorley  said  this  morning  that  we  are  going 
to  trek  to  the  Somme.  Big  doings  down  that 
way." 

*'We're  always  in  it  when  there's  a  row  on," 
said  Bubb.  ''It's  no  sooner  see  and  like  a  place 
'ere  than  you're  out't  next  day.  There  are  some 
fine  birds  in  this  'ere  place  too Look  there 


Bathing  243 

are  the  cooks  gettin'  dinner  ready.  Gawd  they're 
sweatin'  at  the  job  too." 

A  field  kitchen  stood  in  the  church  square  and 
the  smoke  curled  up  from  the  sooty  funnel  and 
paled  away  in  the  clear  air.  Here  the  company 
cooks  were  busy  preparing  dinner.  Facing  the 
Canal  was  a  row  of  red-roofed  houses,  with  a 
wealth  of  summer  flowers  round  the  doors,  the 
windows  looked  out  coquettishly  through  roses, 
and  green  ivy  clambered  up  the  walls. 

To  the  left  of  the  church  was  a  snug  little 
graveyard  hidden  in  a  spinney,  and  here  a  num- 
ber of  English  soldiers  were  buried.  Under  a 
large  tree  stood  a  broken  and  rusty  pump  which 
was  out  of  action.  A  large  shell  had  fallen  there 
and  after  the  explosion  some  soldiers  found  a 
robin,  dead.  They  buried  it  and  were  moved  to 
poetry  in  inscribing  the  little  bird's  epitaph.  The 
epitaph,  written  in  large  black  letters,  hung  from 
the  handle  of  the  pump.    This  was  the  verse : — 

"Cock  Robin  lies  beside  this  pump, 
A  coal-box  hit  him  such  a  thump, 
And  this  is  all  we've  got  to  tell, 
We'll  lick  the  swine  that  fired  the  shell." 

Bubb  looked  at  the  epitaph. 

''Mind  the  one  over  Sergeant  Slade  at 
Maroc?"  he  remarked. 


244  The  Brown  Brethren 

"'Ere  lies  the  remains  of  Sergeant  Slade, 
As  was  slow  at  f rowin'  a  'and  grenade." 

*'Not  as  good  as  the  one  at  the  Cabaret  Rouge 
up  at  Souchez/'  said  Flanagan,  and  quoted: — 

"This  marks  the  fallen  dug-out 
Where  seven  heroes  fell, 
Strafed  in  a  bomb-proof  shelter 
By  a  high  velocity  shell." 

"Well,  we'll  go  into  the  cafe  and  have  a 
drink,"  said  Bowdy.  ''Bubb  won't  refuse  to  go 
in,  I  know.     He  wants  to  see  Emily." 

^*It's  yourself  as  wants  to  see  the  bird,"  said 
Spudhole.  "I  don't  mind  sayin'  that  I  kind  o' 
like  'er.  She's  not  bad  lookin',  almost  as  nice 
as  Fifi.    Mind  Fifi,  Bowdy?" 

'Toor  old  Fifi,"  said  Bowdy.  "Fitz  was  fond 
of  her.  I  remember  one  night  seeing  him  kissing 
her  over  the  window." 

"Git  out." 

"True,"  said  Bowdy.     "That  was  when  we 

were  at  Y Farm,  and  I  was  lying  in  the 

straw  up  in  the  barn.  Snogger  and  Fitz  and  Spud 
and  myself  came  in  from  the  cafe  and  all  went 
to  bed,  except  my  bold  Fitz.  He  sat  up  and  I 
watched  him.  After  a  while  he  thought  every- 
one was  sleeping  and  up  he  gets  and  goes  down- 
stairs.   I  waited  for  ten  minutes,  but  he  didn't 


Bathing  245 

come  back,  so  out  I  goes  and  down  to  see  what 
he  was  up  to.  And  what  would  it  be  but  Fitz 
at  the  back  of  the  farmhouse  speaking  to  Fifi  and 
kissing  her.  Well,  it  wasn't  my  business  to  spy 
on  him,  so  back  I  comes  to  my  roost  and  I  was 
asleep  before  he  came  back/' 

'1  always  knew  that  'e  was  a  devil,"  said  Bubb. 

'Tity  that  'e  went  west 'Ere,  can  yer 

smell  the  roses." 

They  came  to  the  door  o^  the  cafe  and  entered. 
Emilie  was  inside  sitting  at  a  table  writing  a 
letter.  She  smiled  at  the  soldiers  and  went  on 
with  her  work.  Bubb  lit  a  cigarette,  sat  on  a 
chair  and  mumbled  a  song. 

"Woola  woo  donna  maw, 
Siv  woo  play, 
Pan  ay  burr 
Ay  caw  fee  ah  lay." 

The  girl  raised  her  head  and  laughed,  dis- 
closing her  pearly  white  teeth  and  red  lips. 
Emilie  was  a  well-made  girl  with  dark  hair, 
white  brow,  thick,  strongly  arched  eyebrows,  a 
charming  chin  and  a  full  throat.  She  was  of 
medium  height,  full  of  vitality  and  fun,  a  coquette 
every  inch  of  her.  Bubb  was  in  love  with  her, 
just  as  he  had  been  in  love  with  dozens  of  other 
French  girls.    A  billet  and  a  bird,  and  no  man 


246  The  Brown  Brethren 

out  of  the  trench  area  could  be  happier  than 
Bubb. 

Having  drunk  their  coffee,  the  soldiers  made 
their  way  to  the  Canal. 

Bubb's  face  was  brimming  over  with  good 
nature  and  vitality.  Now  and  again  he  would 
jump  into  the  air,  cut  a  caper  with  his  feet,  hop 
to  earth  as  gracefully  as  a  bird,  kick  a  pebble 
along  the  roadway,  and  afterwards  lift  the  pebble 
in  his  hand  and  fling  it  into  the  water. 

A  boy,  wearing  a  pair  of  English  puttees  drove 
two  lean  cows  along  the  Canal  bank  and  stopped 
for  a  moment  to  speak  to  an  elderly  female  who 
was  washing  her  household  linen  in  the  cool 
water.  Heedless  of  the  woman's  presence, 
Bowdy  and  Flanagan  undressed  and  flung  them- 
selves into  the  Canal.  The  swim  from  bank  to 
bank  was  very  exhilarating,  the  coolness  warmed 
the  heart  and  imparted  a  strange  exhilaration  to 
the  body.  A  swim  in  the  cold  water  always  gave 
the  two  men  the  same  sensation  as  good  news 
that  is  unexpected.  Bubb  sat  on  the  bank  look- 
ing at  the  swimmers. 

"Come  into  the  water,  my  man,"  they  shouted. 
'It's  glorious." 

"  'Twon't  be  so  glorious  when  yer  get  out 
again,"  said  Bubb. 


Bathing  247 

"Why?''  Flanagan  enquired. 

''  'Cos  yer  clo'es  are  right  top  o'  a  hant-'eap." 

"An  ant-heap!"  ejaculated  Flanagan.  "Oh, 
my  God!" 

"I'm  not  goin'  ter  leave  my  clo'es  wiv  yours," 
said  Bubb.  "I'm  goin'  ter  leave  'em  where 
there's  no  bloomin'  hants." 

"We'll  get  stung  to  death,"  Bowdy  said. 
"Bubb,  put  our  clothes  along  with  yours,"  he 
called. 

"No  blurry  fear,"  shouted  Bubb,  who  was  un- 
dressing further  along.  "I  don't  want  to  get 
no  hants." 

The  swimmers  only  ceased  in  their  endeavours 
to  drench  him  when  he  flung  half-a-dozen  bricks 
into  the  water  perilously  close  to  their  heads,  but 
it  was  only  Bubb's  trudgeon  stroke  that  saved 
him  from  a  combined  attack  when  he  dived  into 
the  Canal.    Bubb  was  a  graceful  swimmer. 

Bowdy  was  just  clambering  up  on  the  bank 
when  he  heard  it  coming,  rumbling  in  from  the 
Unknown.  He  was  back  in  the  water  immediate- 
ly, beating  it  with  his  hands  as  he  waited.  The 
shell  burst  near  the  bank  and  a  hundred  splinters 
whizzed  into  the  Canal.  A  second  shell  fol- 
lowed, and  a  third.  Then  it  was  that  Bubb's 
clothes,  caught  fair,  were  blown  in  pieces 


248  The  Brown  Brethren 

For  ten  minutes  the  men  kept  in  the  water, 
but  when  no  further  shells  came  across  from 
the  Germans,  they  clambered  out  on  to  the 
bank. 

"AH  hail,  thou  twentieth  century  Adam!" 
said  Flanagan,  looking  at  Bubb  and  shaking  the 
ants  from  the  bundle  of  khaki  clothing.  "It 
will  be  splendid  to  see  you  march  through  Gorre 

on  your  way  back And  all  the  young 

girls " 

Bubb  looked  round  in  agony;  Bowdy  shook 
with  laughter. 

"And  French  girls,  too,"  said  Flanagan. 
"They're  very  rude  sometimes." 

"We'll  have  a  little  procession,"  Bowdy  sug- 
gested.   "Bubb  leading." 

"It's  a  sad  plight  for  a  bashful  man,"  said 
Flanagan.     "An  exhibition  in  the  nude." 

Bubb  opened  his  mouth  and  shut  it  again. 
Bowdy  and  Flanagan  put  their  boots  on. 

"If  only  I  'ad  a  sandbag,"  said  Bubb. 

"We'll  get  back  now,"  Bowdy  said.  "Come 
along,  Spudhole." 

"No  blurry  fear,"  said  the  Cockney.  "I'd 
drown  myself  'fore  I'd  go  back  through  Gorre 
like  this.  I'm  not  a  girl  in  a  revue.  I'm  a 
soldier,  not  a  hactress.     Will  one  o'  you  run 


Bathing  249 

back  and  get  a  pair  o'  trousers  and  a  shirt  for 
me?" 

"No." 

'^No-o!" 

"Callin'  yerselves  mates!"  shrieked  Bubb. 
Then  his  voice  became  coaxing.  *Xook  'ere. 
Flan,  you  go  back  and  get  me  even  a  shirt;  or 
Bowdy Any  of  you.    Be  pals." 

''Who  stood  by  and  let  the  ants  run  over  our 
clothes?"  asked  Flanagan. 

''Bubb,"  Bowdy  replied.  "Our  pal,  Spud- 
hole." 

"That  was  a  joke,"  said  Bubb,  "but  this  is 
past  a  joke.    It's  'ell  'avin'  no  clothes." 

"But  you  wouldn't  wear  clothes  with  ants  run- 
ning over  them,  would  you?"  asked  Bowdy. 

"I  must  go  on  in  front,"  said  Flanagan, 
"ril  ask  Emilie  to  come  down  and  have  a  look 
at  you.  She's  up  to  any  kind  of  devilment,  that 
same  girl." 

"Flan-a-gan,"  said  Bubb  in  a  slow  voice, 
hoarse  with  decision,  "if  you'd  do  a  thing  like 
that,  I'd  cut  yer  blurry  froat."  Then  he  stooped 
down,  picked  up  a  pebble  and  flung  it  into  the 
water. 

'"Ere,  wofs  this?"  he  exclaimed  suddenly. 
"This,  in  the  Canal." 


250  The  Brown  Brethren 

They  looked  in.  A  stretcher,  to  which  a 
ground  sheet  was  bound  by  a  leathern  thong, 
drifted  slowly  down  the  Canal.  Quick  as  a 
flash,  Bubb  dived  in  and  brought  the  stretcher 
to  the  bank. 

''Carry  me  'ome  on  this,"  he  said.  "Put  the 
ground  sheet  over  me." 

He  lay  down  on  the  wet  stretcher  and  his 
mates  covered  him  over  with  the  sheet  and  raised 
the  burden  to  their  shoulders.  Spudhole  re- 
gained his  good  humour  and  began  to  sing.  He 
was  in  the  throes  of  a  rag-time  chorus  when 
Flanagan  and  Bowdy  halted  opposite  the  Cafe 
Calomphie  and  placed  the  stretcher  on  the  pave- 
ment. 

Flanagan  knocked  at  the  door.  Emilie  came 
out.     Bubb  sweated  terror  from  every  pore. 

"Take  me  away!"  he  yelled,  wrapping  him- 
self very  tightly  in  his  sheet.  "For  Gawd's  sake 
take  me  back  to  the  billet!" 

Agitation  and  confusion  distorted  his  counten- 
ance; at  that  moment  he  longed  for  the  ground 
to  open  and  swallow  him.  Flanagan,  who 
knew  French  like  a  native,  was  speaking  to  the 
girl. 

"What  are  you  saying?"  Spudhole  called. 

''She  wants  the  ground  sheet,"   said  Flana- 


Bathing  251 

gan.  'Tm  going  to  make  her  a  present  of 
it." 

'^For  Gawd's  sake " 

*'She's  going  to  take  it  off  herself,  with  her 
own  two  hands/'  Flanagan  remarked. 

''Oh,  blimey!''  groaned  Bubb;  then,  in  an 
excess  of  rage,  'Til  kill  'er  if  she  comes  near 
me.     I'll  strangle  'er,  then  I'll  strangle  you." 

But  Bubb's  violent  gestures  did  not  deter 
Emilie  from  approaching  the  stretcher.  She 
knew  all  about  Bubb's  mishap.  Flanagan  had 
explained  his  mate's  woeful  plight.  Emilie 
bent  down  and  raised  the  lower  part  of  the 
ground  sheet,  disclosing  Bubb's  toes. 

Spudhole  curled  up  like  a  hedgehog.  The  girl 
gave  the  sheet  a  slight  tug. 

"Pour  moi !"  she  said. 

"Git  out!"  yelled  Bubb.  "Clear  off  ter  'ell. 
Damn  yer,  don't  yer  know  wot  shame  is!  Ally 
voos  ong." 

"Pull  it  off,  Emilie,"  roared  Flanagan,  hold- 
ing his  sides. 

The  girl  gave  the  sheet  another  tug.  She  did 
not  want  to  take  it  off,  but  Bubb's  terror  amused 
her. 

The  boy  could  stand  it  no  longer.  He  got  to 
his  feet,  wrapped  the  sheet  round  his  waist  and 


252  The  Brown  Brethren 

fled  up  the  street.  The  village  came  out  to  see 
him  careering  along;  all  laughed  at  the  escapade 
but  few  were  surprised  at  the  spectacle. 

"It's  only  the  mad  English,"  the  old  women 
said.    "They  are  always  up  to  mischief." 

That  night  the  London  Irish  set  out  on  their 
trek  to  the  Somme. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  SOMME 

There's  a  shell  as  *as  fell  in  the  mud, 
A  bloomin'  big  shell  in  the  mud, 

A  bloomin'  big  shell, 

An*  it  might  give  us  'ell. 
As  it  would  if  it  wasn't  a  dud. 

I  was  watching  and  saw  where  it  goed. 
Exactly  the  spot  where  it  goed. 

In  a  sweat  o'  a  funk, 

I  watched  where  it  sunk, 
And  I'm  thankful  it  didn't  explode. 

(From  "The  Dud.") 

THE  trench  was  quite  a  good  one  for  the 
Somme,  about  six  foot  deep  with  here 
and  there  a  few  dug-outs  where  men 
could  sleep  and  eat. 

There,  on  a  certain  autumn  morning,  we  find 
the  men  of  the  London  Irish  again,  waiting  to 
cross  No  Man's  Land  and  attack  the  Germans. 
A  month  has  passed  since  they  left  Gorre  and 
during  that  time  they  have  seen  much  fighting  in 
which  they  have  earned  great  renown. 

''We're  too  well  known,"  Bubb  often  re- 
marked bitterly,  but  beneath  all  his  grumbling 

253 


254  The  Brown  Brethren 

it  could  be  seen  that  he  was  more  than  a  little 
proud  of  his  regiment.  'We're  too  well  known 
that's  wot  it  is,"  he  would  continue.  "If  there's 
anything  to  be  done  oo's  to  do  it?  Us.  We're 
always  in  the  thick  o'  it.  If  the  'eads  'ear  that 
there's  a  stiff  job  to  be  done  and  it  wants  an 
army  corps  to  do  it,  wot  do  the  'eads  say.  They 
say:  Tut  the  London  Irish,  the  footballers  of 
Loos  on  the  job.    They'll  soon  do  it.'  " 

On  this  morning  Bubb  was  preparing  break- 
fast in  a  dug-out  while  Bowdy  Benners  was 
sleeping  in  a  corner  and  Flanagan  was  out  on 
the  parapet  watching  for  Tanks.  These  monsters 
were  going  to  cross  presently,  but  as  yet  they 
were  not  to  be  seen.  In  front,  the  self-sown 
crops  were  waving  in  the  breeze,  and  the  barbed 
wire  entanglements  showed  red  and  rusty  over 
the  meadows.  Nothing  of  the  German  wires 
remained;  they  had  been  blown  to  bits.  The 
German  trenches  could  be  seen  in  front,  dipping 
out  of  sight  into  a  natural  valley  on  the  left  and 
losing  all  outline  amongst  the  tree  stumps  on 
the  right.  The  stumps  were  all  that  remained 
of  the  well-known  High  Wood;  the  locality  was 
pitted  with  shell-holes  and  littered  with  dead, 
friend    and    foe,    who    lay    together    in    silent 


The  Somme  255 

communion.  The  Germans  still  held  the 
wood. 

Bubb,  having  prepared  breakfast,  went  to  the 
door  and  called  Flanagan  in,  then  he  turned 
round  and  kicked  Bowdy  on  the  shins. 

''Git  out  V  he  said.  "Ye're  not  going  to 
fight  on  an  empty  tummy,  are  yer?'' 

Flanagan  came  into  the  dug-out.  "That 
smells  A.I.''  he  remarked.  ''But  the  Tanks,'' 
he  said.  "I  can't  see  them  yet.  I  hope  they're 
not  late." 

"I  hope  they're  not,"  Bowdy  replied,  and 
yawned.  The  arrival  of  the  Tanks  did  not  in- 
terest him  apparently.  He  reached  out  his  hand 
for  the  mess-tin  of  tea  and  drank. 

"We're  givin'  them  'ell  wiv  our  guns,"  said 

Bubb.     "Blowin'  the  place  to  'ell That's 

a  good  drop  o'  tea,  ain't  it?" 

"Indeed,  it's  damned  good,"  Flanagan  re- 
plied. "I'm  out  for  a  V.C.  this  time,  any- 
how. .  .  .  o  Where's  Snogger?" 

"He's  outside,  somewhere,"  said  Bowdy. 
"He  thinks  that  he'll  not  come  through  this 
scrap.     He  is  quite  nervy." 

"I  wouldn't  mind  'avin'  a  job  at  these  'ere 
tanks,"     said     Bubb.      "It'd    be    damn    good 


256  The  Brown  Brethren 

sport 'Ave    another    piece    of    bacon, 

Bowdy?'' 

''Thank  you/'  Bowdy  replied,  taking  the  half 
rasher  which  Bubb  handed  to  him.  "Fm 
damned  hungry Here,  did  you  see  Cap- 
tain Thorley  this  morning.  He  was  giving  cigar- 
ettes away.  Turkish  they  were;  must  have  cost 
a  penny  apiece.  Fat  ones,  like  a  cigar  al- 
most." 

"  'E^s  a  good  bloke,  old  Thorley,"  said  Bubb. 

"I  wonder  if  the  tanks  are  in  sight  yet,"  said 
Flanagan.      ''They're    goin'    to    make    a   clean 

sweep  of  all  the  High  Wood What's  the 

time  now  ?" 

"A  quarter  to  seven,"  Bowdy  replied,  looking 
at  his  wrist  watch.     "It'll  all  be  over  at  ten 

o'clock  one  way  or  the  other The  Guards 

and  Northumberland  Fusiliers  are  round  one  side 
of  the  wood  and  it's  almost  closed  in." 

Having  finished  their  breakfast,  the  men  went 
outside  into  the  trench.  The  shells  could  be 
heard  bursting  on  the  German  lines,  and  the 
enemy  were  replying.  The  machine  guns  were 
going  pit-pit,  and  bullets  were  ripping  the  Eng- 
lish sandbags. 

"There,  look!"  shouted  Bowdy  Benners, 
ix)inting  at  the  sky  overhead.     His  two  mates 


The  Somme  257 

looked  up  to  see  an  aeroplane  making  its  way 
across  to  the  enemy's  lines.  It  was  followed  by 
two,  three,  half-a-dozen,  flying  low. 

"There,  the  tanks!"  somebody  shouted,  and 
a  line  of  faces  peeped  over  the  sandbags.  One 
man  in  Benners'  bay  got  hit  through  the  head 
and  fell  to  the  floor  of  the  trench.  The  remainder 
drew  back  discreetly  and  kept  their  heads  under 
cover.  Sergeant  Snogger  appeared  suddenly, 
smoking  a  cigarette  and  paring  his  nails  with  a 
clasp-knife.  He  leant  his  back  against  the  para- 
dos and  looked  at  the  trio. 

"Cheero,  sarg,"  said  Bubb.  "Fancy  yer 
chance  ?'' 

"Not  'arf,"  said  Snogger.     "It'll  be  a  walk- 


over." 


"Pass  the  word  along  for  Sergeant  Snogger," 
came  the  message  up  the  trench. 

The  sergeant  closed  his  knife,  put  it  in  his 
pocket  and  rushed  round  the  traverse. 

"I  didn't  see  the  tanks,"  said  Bubb.  "There 
are  none  's  far  as  I  could  see." 

"I  saw  one,"  Bowdy  said.  "Over  on  the 
right." 

"There  were  two,"  said  Flanagan.  "Crawl- 
in'  along  as  if  they  were  pickin'  up  worms.  Big, 
ugly   lookin'   brutes   they   were.      God!    they'll 


258  The  Brown  Brethren 

make  the  Germans  sit  up You  have  yer 

helmet  twisted  round,  Bubb." 

Bubb  adjusted  his  helmet,  lit  a  cigarette, 
pulled  his  rifle  towards  him,  cleaned  a  speck  of 
dirt  from  his  bayonet,  then  put  his  rifle  back  to 
its  original  place.  Bowdy  and  Flanagan  fol- 
lowed the  movement  with  intent  eyes.  From 
their  look  it  might  seem  as  if  their  very  existence 
depended  on  the  job  which  Bubb  had  done. 

"Yes,  it's  some  strafing,''  said  Bowdy.  "The 
Germans  are  getting  enough  to  go  on  with,  any- 
way.   Phew !" 

The  three  men  crouched  to  avoid  the  fragments 
from  a  shell  which  burst  on  the  parapet  to  the 
left.  Somebody  called  out  for  stretcher-bearers 
and  the  message  sped  along  the  trench. 

"It'll  be  quite  easy  getting  across  here,"  said 
Bowdy.  "One  whistle  and  up  you  go  and  the 
best  of  luck.  Here,  I  haven't  got  a  cigar- 
ette  Oh,  yes,  I  have,  here  they  are,  I 

put  them  into  the  wrong  pocket.  Have  one, 
Flanagan — one  Bubb?" 

Bubb  took  the  cigarette,  placed  it  behind  his 
ear  and  continued  smoking  the  one  which  he  had 
in  his  mouth.  "I'll  keep  this'n  to  smoke  when 
we  get  across  there,"  he  said. 

"It's  about  time  to  move  now,"  said  Bowdy, 


The  Somme  259 

and  he  raised  his  head  cautiously  and  looked 
over. 

'^There!"  he  said.  ''They're  making  head- 
way. No  damned  stopping  them.  Bravo!  the 
tanks!    Good  old  tanks!'' 

''Bravo!"  said  Bubb,  sticking  his  head  over. 
But  he  pulled  it  back  quickly,  for  a  bullet  ripped 
a  sandbag  beside  him,  and  a  handful  of  clay  and 
chalk  was  slapped  into  his  face. 

"Gawd,  that's  a  bloomin'  poultice,"  he  mut- 
tered, ducking  down  and  wiping  the  grit  from 
his  eyes.     "It  'asn't  knocked  my  'ead  off,  but  I 

feels  as  if  it  'as I'm  not  goin'  to  look  over 

again  till  the  whistle's  blown." 

Bowdy  Benners  placed  a  mirror  on  a  bayonet 
and  held  it  over  the  trench.  Looking  in  it  he 
could  see  the  field  in  front,  the  barbed  wire  en- 
tanglements, the  shell-holes,  the  German  trench 
on  which  the  shells  were  falling,  gouging  out  the 
occupants.  And  the  tanks.  Yes,  he  could  see 
them  crossing,  mammoths  moving  forward  with 
irrevocable  decision,  serious  minded  leviathans 
which  knew  their  business  and  went  about  it  in 
a  deliberate  manner.  Bullets  rattled  on  their 
hides,  struck  sparks  out  of  their  scaly  armour, 
but  had  no  effect  on  the  air  of  detachment  with 
which  the  great  monsters  in  steel  pursued  their 


26o  The  Brown  Brethren 

inexorable  way.  Nosing  complacently  forward, 
they  crawled  down  into  shell-craters,  hiccoughed 
up  again,  straightened  themselves  out,  and 
stealthily  pursued  their  way  towards  the  enemy 
trench. 

'They're  getting  on,"  said  Bowdy.  "We'll 
soon  be  over,  too."  He  detached  the  mirror 
from  its  rest  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket.  ''I 
never  knew  a  better  one  for  shaving;  it's  so 
handy." 

Sergeant  Snogger  came  into  the  bay  again 
frantic  with  anger. 

"I  would  like  to  know  oo  sent  that  bloody 
message  up,"  he  thundered.  *'Gawd,  I'll  find 
out,  and  then  someone  will  be  damned  unlucky." 

He  stopped,  then  gave  an  inarticulate  cry  and 
collapsed  in  a  heap.  Bubb's  jaw  dropped  and 
he  stared  at  Snogger  with  dilated  eyes.  The 
sergeant  lay  silent  and  motionless,  death  was  in- 
stantaneous for  a  shrapnel  bullet  had  smashed 
his  spine. 

Bowdy  and  Flanagan  lifted  the  dead  man  in 
their  arms  and  placed  him  on  the  firestep. 

''I  never  seed  anybody  knocked  out  so  sudden," 
said  Bubb  in  a  nervous  voice.  "One  minute 
speakin'  and  then " 

"Don't   think  of   it,"   said  Flanagan.     "The 


The  Somme  261 

tanks  are  well  on  now.  What  a  funny  thing — 
tanks.  They  are  as  old  as  the  hills.  Montaigne 
speaks  about  them.  He  calls  them  coaches. 
Listen." 

He  fumbled  in  his  haversack,  brought  out  a 
dilapidated  volume — Florio's  translation  of  Mon- 
taigne and  read: — 

"Were  my  memory  sufficiently  informed  of 
them  I  would  not  think  my  time  lost,  heere 
to  set  down  the  infinite  variety  which  histories 
present  to  us  of  the  use  of  coaches  in  the  ser- 
vice of  warre :  divers  according  to  the  nations 
and  different  according  to  the  ages:  to  my 

seeming  of  great  efifect  and  necessity 

Even  lately  in  our  fathers'  time,  the  Hun- 
garians did  very  availefully  bring  them  into 
fashion  and  profitably  set  them  a  work  against 
the  Turks;  every  one  of  them  containing  a 
Targattier  and  a  Muskettier,  with  a  certain 
number  of  harquebuses  or  calivers,  ready 
charged;  and  so  ranged  that  they  might  make 
good  use  of  them:  and  all  over  covered  with 
a  pavesado,  after  the  manner  of  a  Galliotte. 
They  made  the  front  of  their  battaile  with  three 
thousand  such  coaches:  and  after  the  Canon 
had   playd,    caused    them    to    discharge    and 


262  The  Brown  Brethren 

shoote  of  a  voHe  of  small  shott  upon  their 
enemies,  before  they  should  know  or  feel, 
what  the  rest  of  the  forces  could  doe:  which 
was  no  small  advancement;  or  if  not  this,  they 
mainely  drove  those  coaches  amidde  the  thick- 
est of  their  enemies'  squadrons,  with  purpose 
to  breake,  disroute  and  make  waie  through 
them.  Besides  the  benefit  and  helpe  they 
might  make  of  them,  in  any  suspicious  or 
dangerous  place  to  flanke  their  troupe  march- 
ing from  place  to  place:  or  in  hast  to  encom- 
passe,  to  embarricade,  to  cover  or  fortifie  any 
lodgment  or  quarter." 

Captain  Thorley  appeared  round  the  corner, 
his  hand  bandaged.  A  splinter  of  shell  had 
caught  him  a  few  minutes  before. 

"Getting  ready,  boys?"  he  asked.  "You'll 
have  no  difficulty  in  crossing  here.  .  .  .  An- 
other two  minutes  ....  Snogger  dead?  .... 
What  a  pity !" 

He  disappeared. 

"I  wish  we  did  get  across,"  said  Bubb.  "I'm 
fed  up  wiv  this  waitin' :  I  want  to  get  at  'em." 

Then  a  whistle  was  blown ;  another.  The  men 
scrambled  up  the  parapet  and  tumbled  out  on  to 
the  levels. 


The  Somme  263 

The  bombardment  seemed  to  increase;  the 
German  trenches  were  hidden  by  smoke,  flying 
dirt  and  logs.  Their  dug-outs  were  going  sky- 
high.  Over  it  all,  two  aeroplanes  glided  grace- 
fully through  the  air.  The  tanks  were  still 
going  forward.  A  platoon  on  the  right  had 
started  too  soon  and  the  men  were  half-way 
across.  Bowdy  Benners  and  Bubb  walked 
abreast,  chatting  leisurely.  Flanagan  had  dis- 
appeared. 

The  air  was  alive  with  bullets,  men  were  fall- 
ing all  round,  groaning  and  screaming.  In 
front  the  tanks  had  both  stopped,  one  in  a  shell- 
crater,  the  other  in  a  sap.  The  artillery  length- 
ened its  range  and  the  shells  were  falling  be- 
hind the  first  line  and  the  High  Wood.  But 
the  enemy  machine  guns  had  not  been  silenced, 
the  High  Wood  was  yet  as  venomous  as  a  wasps' 
nest. 

''Forward!''  The  men  advanced  at  a  steady 
pace,  their  bayonets  in  air.  One  man  had  his 
entrenching  fool  fastened  over  his  stomach  as  a 
bullet  shield.     Bowdy  saw  him  get  hit  in  the 

head The  machine  gun  fire  was  deadly; 

dozens  fell  and  lay  writhing.  A  tall  youngster 
with  a  long  neck  came  to  a  dead  stop,  dropped 
his  bayonet  to  the  ground,  put  his  hand  inside 


264  The  Brown  Brethren 

the  waist  of  his  trousers  and  groped  around  as 
if  trying  to  catch  a  flea.  'IVe  copped  a  packet 
this  time/'  he  said  and  lay  down. 

The  flanks  of  the  marching  Hne  converged  on 
the  centre  despite  the  orders  of  the  officers  to  the 
men.  "Keep  your  distance!''  ''Spread  out  a 
bit  there!"  etc.     But  the  men  felt  inclined  to 

huddle  together,  like  frightened  children 

The  machine  guns  seemed  to  intensify  their  fire, 
the  bullets  struck  the  earth  in  a  steady  and  in- 
cessant stream.  On  the  left  a  party  of  men 
advanced  steadily.  A  shell  dropped  in  the  middle 
of  them 

Captain  Thorley,  who  was  leading  his  platoon, 
turned  round. 

"Under  cover,"  he  shouted.  "It's  no  good 
going  ahead  yet.    It's  murder." 

The  men  disappeared  into  adjacent  shell-holes, 
others  brought  in  the  wounded.  The  machine- 
guns  swept  the  field  with  insistent  vehemence. 

Bowdy  and  Bubb  joined  themselves  together 
in  a  deep  crater. 

"Couldn't  'ave  a  more  swagger  shell-'ole  than 
this'n,"  said  Spudhole.  "We're  in  luck's  way. 
Flanagan  got  'it,"  he  continued.  "I  saw  'im  cop 
it.  Right  f  roo  the  'ead.  'E  didn't  say  nuffin',  just 
fell  and  stiffened." 


The  Somme  265 

He  placed  his  back  against  the  sloping  wall 
of  the  swagger  shell-hole  and  drawing  his 
cigarette  from  his  mouth  with  a  graceful  swan- 
like  motion  of  the  arm,  he  turned  to  Bowdy 
Benners. 

''Blimey,  I  don't  feel  'arf  a  swell  'ere,"  he 
said.     'Wouldn't  mind  stickin'  it  in  this  'ere 

place    for    duration Eh,    wot's    that, 

Bowdy?" 

A  German  shell  came  out  from  the  unknown 
humming  like  a  gigantic  beetle.  Nearer  it  came 
and  nearer. 

"It's  going  to  fall  wide,"  said  Bowdy,  al- 
though he  instinctively  guessed  that  it  would  fall 
very  near. 

It  swept  over  the  two  men's  heads  with  a 
vicious  swish  and  dived  into  the  opposite  wall  of 
the  shell-hole.  Bowdy  went  red  in  the  face, 
Bubb's  jaw  dropped,  his  eyes  protruded  as  if 
they  were  going  to  spring  out  of  his  head.  The 
shock  paralysed  the  two  boys  for  a  second;  they 
were  so  unnerved  that  the  feeling  of  fear  was 
momentarily  denied  them.  They  stared  blankly 
at  the  shell  which  had  only  entered  about  a  foot 
into  the  ground.  The  base  of  the  projectile  was 
showing,  it  might  explode  at  any  moment.  They 
were  in  a  position  similar  to  that  of  a  patient  to 


266  The  Brown  Brethren 

whose  body  a  local  anaesthetic  is  applied  and  who 
sees  the  surgeon  at  work  but  does  not  feel  the 
knife.  Bowdy  was  the  first  to  recover  his  com- 
posure. 

^*Clear  out  of  it,  Spudhole!'*  he  yelled,  and 
both  clambered  across  the  rim  of  the  crater  into 
the  open. 

They  lay  out  there  for  a  few  minutes  and  as 
the  shell  did  not  go  off  they  went  back  again. 
Outside  the  machine-gun  bullets  were  ripping  up 
the  ground.  The  •  two  men  lay  down  quietly 
without  speaking  a  word.  Bubb  put  the  stump 
of  his  cigarette  back  in  his  mouth  and  relit  it. 

"There!  See  the  aeroplanes?''  said  Bowdy. 
''They're  flying  damned  low  over  the  enemy 
trench.  Hear  their  horns  going?  Signalling  to 
the  artillery,  I  suppose." 

"S'pose  so,"  said  Bubb,  flattening  out  in  the 
bottom  of  the  shell-crater  and  drawing  his  cigar- 
ette from  behind  his  ear.  He  put  it  in  his  mouth 
and  lit  it.  "I  knew  it  would  be  wanted,"  he 
said. 

Ten  minutes  passed.  The  tanks  were  still 
stuck  and  showed  no  sign  of  movement.  The 
English  artillery  opened  on  the  High  Wood 
again.  All  guns  within  range  had  apparently 
chosen   it    for   their   objective   now.    The   oft- 


The  Somme  267 

lacerated  tree-stumps  were  broken  like  glass, 
they  were  dragged  out  by  the  roots  and  hurled 
broadcast ;  the  wood  was  disgorging  its  entrails. 
The  unfortunate  wretches  who  held  it  were  in  a 
ghastly  situation.  To  remain  in  their  dug-outs 
was  death.  Their  manner  of  dying  was  left  to 
their  choice.  They  could  come  out  into  the  hur- 
ricane and  be  blown  to  bits,  they  could  stay  in 
their  lairs  and  be  buried  alive.  They  were  con- 
fronted by  two  evils,  one  as  bad  as  the  other. 
The  machine-guns  were  silent  now;  probably 
they  were  all  out  of  action. 

Bowdy  put  up  his  head  and  looked  across  to- 
wards the  German  lines. 

"God,    they're   getting  it!''   he    said.      "And 

the  tanks  are  still  stuck There !  There're 

hundreds  of  the  Germans  coming  across  with 
their  hands  up One  batch  is  un- 
lucky; a  shell  has  dropped  in  the  middle  of 
them." 

"Far  as  I  can  see,  we'll  'ave  nuffink  to  do 
when  this  strafin'  is  over,  bar  go  over  an'  take 
the  trenches,"  said  Bubb,  who  was  looking  at 
the  nerve-shaken  Germans  as  they  came  rushing 
towards  the  craters.  "I  'ope  we  get  relieved  to- 
night after  we've  finished." 

"'Course   we'll   get   relieved,"   said   Bowdy 


268  The  Brown  Brethren 

*WeVe  been   in    four  days   now Here, 

what  the  devil's  wrong  with  you?" 

A  wild-eyed  German,  armed  with  a  rifle  and 
bayonet,  came  to  the  rim  of  the  crater  and 
lunged  at  Bubb.  The  Cockney,  elusive  as  an 
eel,  slipped  out  of  reach,  seized  his  own  rifle  and 
fired  at  the  man.  The  German  fell  forward,  dead, 
the  bullet  had  gone  through  his  neck  and  pierced 
the  jugular  vein. 

''Funny  bloke,  that  feller,"  said  Bubb. 

"I  think  he  had  gone  mad,"  said  Bowdy,  chang- 
ing his  position  and  getting  clear  of  the  prostrate 
form  which  had  fallen  into  the  crater. 

At  this  moment  the  artillery  fire  ceased  ravag- 
ing the  German  front  line,  the  range  was  length- 
ened and  the  guns  devoted  their  attention  to  the 
enemy's  support  trenches. 

A  whistle  was  blown 

The  men  went  forward.  Captain  Thorley 
leading.     The  bandage  on  his  hand  was  very 

dirty    now The    enemy    trenches    were 

very  quiet,  not  a  rifle  spoke.  Parties  of  Ger- 
mans came  out  with  their  hands  in  air,  muttering 
"Kamerad!  Kamerad!"  They  were  taken 
prisoners. 

''It's  a  damned  tame  endinV'  said  Bubb. 
"After  all  that  strafing.'' 


The  Somme  269 

"It's  like  a  grand  overture  without  a  perform- 
ance following/'  said  Captain  Thorley  who  over- 
heard Bubb's  remark. 

''Yes,  sir,"  Bubb  replied.  ''  'Ave  yer  a 
match  to  spare,  sir.  I  forgot  mine.  Left  them 
in  the  last  dug-out,  sir." 

Every  move  augmented  the  number  of 
prisoners,  they  rose  from  the  ground  and  from 
shell-holes  and  gave  themselves  up.  Now  and 
again  an  apparently  dead  German  was  tickled 
with  the  point  of  a  bayonet  and  he  came  to  life 
with  startling  suddenness.  Bubb  discovered  a 
helmet,  put  it  on  and  put  up  his  hands  in  imita- 
tion of  the  Germans  who  were  surrendering  .... 
Bowdy  discovered  a  box  of  cigars  somewhere  and 
lit  up,  then  he  handed  the  box  round. 

"Have  a  smoke,  boys,"  said  Captain  Thorley. 
"Just  to  celebrate  the  taking  of  the  High 
Wood '' 

At  that  moment  a  shrapnel  shell  burst  over 
the  captain's  head  and  he  fell  to  the  ground 
mortally  wounded.  A  bullet  had  hit  him  on  the 
temple.  A  few  men  rushed  in  to  his  assistance, 
Bubb  leading.    But  nothing  could  be  done.    His 

brains    were    oozing   out Consciousness 

was  lost,  death  would  come  in  a  few  moments. 
A  stretcher-bearer  appeared,  then  another,  and 


270  The  Brown  Brethren 

they  carried  the  captain  away.    He  died  before 
reaching  the  dressing-station. 

The  London  Irish  now  set  about  consolidating 
their  position  and  spent  long  hours  of  spade-work 
on  the  job.  Next  night  the  men  were  relieved. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BACK   FROM   BATTLE 

And  as  we  left  the  trench  to-night. 

Each  weary  'neath  his  load, 
Grey  silent  ghosts  as  light  as  air 

Came  with  us  down  the  road. 

And  as  we  sat  us  down  to  drink. 

They  sat  beside  us  too, 
And  drank  red  wine  at  Nouex  les  Mines, 

As  once  they  used  to  do. 

(From  ''Soldier  Songs") 

A  SOFT  rain  was  falling;  a  low  wind  swept 
across  the  levels,  and  the  leaves  of  a 
near  birch  copse  rustled  in  the  breeze,  fal- 
tering timidly  as  they  shook  the  rain  from  their 
shining  fringes.  A  soft,  bluish  haze  surrounded 
the  tops  of  the  birches,  the  trunks  were  engirt 
with  a  pale  mist  which  gave  an  eerie  atmosphere 
to  the  whole  wood. 

The  London  Irish  had  just  left  the  trenches 
and  were  following  a  sunken  road  on  their  way 
back  to  billets  and  a  month's  rest.  The  men 
were  in  a  gay  good  humour,  ''Charlotte  the  Har- 
lot," the  Rabelaisian  song  was  sung  with  gr^eat 

371 


272  The  Brown  Brethren 

gusto.  The  faces  of  sweet  French  maidens, 
almost  forgotten,  were  recalled  again.  The 
men's  fancies  rushed  hither  and  thither,  painting 
rosy  pictures  of  snug  farmhouses  and  good  cafes. 
A  month's  rest  away  from  the  ructions  of  war; 
how  splendid! 

Where  the  wood  grew  thinner  a  brushwood 
screen  had  been  improvised  so  as  to  hide  the 
road.  In  front  lay  an  unlucky  red  brick  village, 
one  which  had  suffered  much  from  the  guns  of 
war.  Every  third  house  had  been  hit  by  shell 
fire  and  many  of  the  homes  were  levelled  to  the 
ground.  A  heavy  wall  of  cloud,  ragged  of  front 
crawled  across  the  sky ;  the  sun  was  overcast,  but 
far  up,  shooting  through  the  advancing  layers  of 
black,  a  long,  golden  ray  of  sunshine  streamed 
out  and  lit  up  the  firing  line. 

Save  for  the  crunch  of  marching  feet  there  was 
quiet.  The  shower  went  by  and  the  soft  rustle 
of  the  rain  falling  on  the  grass  by  the  roadside 
had  ceased.  All  around  the  country  lay  in  ruins, 
the  self-sown  crops  in  the  wide  meadows 
drooped  abjectly  to  earth  as  if  in  mourning  for 
the  reaper  who  visited  the  place  no  more.  The 
men  passed  a  house  which  stood  in  the  fields,  a 
little  red-brick  cottage  with  its  chimney  thrown 
down,  its  doors  latchless  and  its  windows  broken. 


Back  from  Battle  273 

Once  a  home  of  thrifty,  toiling  people;  now  the 
clear  sun,  which  succeeded  the  shower,  saw  no 
housewife  at  work,  no  children  playing,  no  man 
out  in  the  fields  storing  up  the  harvest  crops. 
Nothing  there  now  save  the  guns  which  lurked 
privily  and  kept  for  the  moment  a  decorous 
silence.  A  big  shell  was  following  the  men 
along,  bursting  at  intervals  some  five  hundred 
yards  behind.  The  Germans  were  sweeping  the 
road,  trusting  that  the  projectile  would  drop  on 
any  troops  who  might  be  marching  along  there. 
The  shell  followed  steadily,  keeping  its  distance 
and  doing  no  harm.  But  the  range  might  be 
lengthened  at  any  moment  and  then  trouble 
would  ensue.  The  men  marched  rapidly,  hardly 
daring  to  breathe. 

''Gawd,  I  don't  like  that  'ere  coal-box,"  said 
Bubb,  as  he  heard  an  explosion  behind.  ''That 
blurry  one  was  nearer,  I  fink." 

"Further  ofif,  I  should  say,"  Bowdy  Benners 
replied.  "Light  a  fag,  Spudhole,  it  will  do  you 
all  the  good  in  the  world." 

He  burst  into  song: — • 

"Give  me  a  lucifer  to  light  my  fag, 
And  laugh,  boys,  that's  the  style, 
Pack  up  your  troubles  in  your  old  kit-bag. 
And  smile,  boys,  smile." 


274  The  Brown  Brethren 

"Come,  boys,  sing  up,"  he  called.  "Come  on, 
let  go  r 

The  chorus  was  repeated  and  the  men  joined 
in  singing,  roaring  at  the  tops  of  their  voices. 
Bubb  straightened  his  back,  expanded  his  chest 
and  looked  at  his  mate.  Bowdy,  with  his  cigar- 
ette in  his  mouth,  was  bellowing  out  the  chorus, 
the  cigarette  moving  up  and  down  as  if  keeping 
time  with  the  measure. 

Spudhole  swept  into  a  fresh  song,  a  well- 
known  favourite.  The  men  joined  in  the  sing- 
ing:— 

"There's  a  soldier  out  on  picket 

Over  there, 
There's  a  soldier  out  on  picket 

Over  there, 
There's  a  soldier  out  on  picket. 
And  'e  wants  'is  bloomin'  ticket. 
But  the  beggar's  got  to  stick  it 

Over  there. 
*E  don't  mind  the  dug-outs'  stenches 
And  the  God-forsaken  trenches 
When  'e's  thinkin'  o'  the  wenches 

Over  there." 

The  voices  died  away  as  a  shell  burst  in  the 
road  very  close  at  hand. 

"Nearer  that  time,''  said  Bubb.  "I  wish  we 
were  in  the  trenches." 

They  sighted  the  village  to  find  the  shells 
bursting  all  through  the  place  and  the  buildings 


Back  from  Battle  275 

flying  about  the  streets.  The  children  were  in 
hiding,  not  a  civilian  was  to  be  seen  save  a  pale, 
thin  woman  of  forty  who  stood  at  the  door  of  a 
ruined  estaminet.  This  had  no  doubt  been  her 
home ;  probably  she  was  still  living  in  the  cellar. 

The  men  stared  at  the  woman,  saw  her  bowed 
head,  her  ragged  clothes,  her  queer,  weedy  form. 
In  her  eyes  was  a  look  such  as  the  men  had 
seldom  seen.  The  poor  creature  reminded 
Bowdy  of  a  dog  which  he  once  had  seen  prowling 
round  a  pond  in  which  its  young  had  been 
drowned. 

'^Wot's  she  doin'  standin'  out  in  the  street  like 
that?"  said  Bubb.  ^'She'll  stop  a  packet  if  she's 
not  careful." 

"Eyes  right,''  came  an  order  from  an  officer 
in  front,  and  the  men  turned  their  eyes  towards 
the  woman  at  the  door. 

''Salutin'  'er.    I  wonder  wot  for,"  said  Bubb. 

'*  'Er  four  children  were  killed  yesterday  by 
a  shell,"  said  somebody  in  the  ranks. 

The  woman  raised  her  head  and  looked  stolidly 
at  the  soldiers.  Her  expression  did  not  change; 
perhaps  feeling  was  dead  within  her. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  village  stood  a  ruined 
convent  from  which  the  nuns  had  not  yet  de- 
parted.     They    educated    the    village    children. 


276  The  Brown  Brethren 

The  little  ones  went  to  school  daily,  their  books 
and  respirators  under  their  arms.  The  class- 
room was  in  the  cellar  of  the  Convent.  As  the 
men  passed  the  Convent,  they  saw  a  nun,  dressed 
in  blue  homespun,  white  frontlet  and  black  veil, 
standing  at  the  door  throwing  crumbs  to  the 
doves  which  fluttered  about  her  feet.  In  one 
hand  she  held  a  rosary ;  no  doubt  she  was  saying 
her  prayers.  There  was  France  personified, 
France  great  and  fearless,  a  martyr  unsubdued ! 
The  sight  was  a  tonic  to  the  men.  Unable  to 
resist  the  impulse,  they  gave  vent  to  a  rousing 
cheer.  A  look  of  perplexity  overspread  the 
woman's  face,  she  gazed  at  the  soldiers  for  a 
moment,  then  throwing  the  remaining  crumbs  to 
the  birds  she  retreated  hurriedly  into  the  Con- 
vent. 

"Wot  a  fine  woman  that  one  is,"  said  Spud- 
hole.  "Gawd,  there's  somefin'  in  'em,  you 
know.  An'  they  don't  do  it  for  show,  neither. 
Well,  we'll  'ave  another  song  now,  one  respect- 
able like.  Not  one  that  we  wouldn't  want  good 
people  to  'ear.  'Ow  about  Xittle  Grey  'Ome  in 
the  West'?" 

In  the  late  afternoon  the  men  arrived  at  the 
village  in  which  they  were  to  billet.  The  batta- 
lion marched  down  the  main  street  dog-tired  andi 


Back  from  Battle  277 

glad  that  the  march  was  at  an  end.  The  wine- 
shops were  open  and  soldiers  could  be  seen  sit- 
ting on  the  wine  barrels,  smoking  and  drinking. 
At  the  corner  of  one  side  street,  a  cook  was 
washing  his  face  at  a  pump  and  half-a-dozen 
merry  little  children  were  flinging  pebbles  at  him. 
When  a  pebble  hit  him,  he  would  bend  down, 
raise  a  mess-tin  of  water  and  fling  it  at  the  mis- 
chievous rascals.  A  party  of  soldiers  came  out 
from  an  alley,  bearing  between  them  three  dixies 
of  hot,  steaming  tea.  They  were  indulging  in 
idle  banter  and  seemed  very  pleased  with  them- 
selves— their  eyes  glowed  with  happiness. 

At  the  door  of  an  estaminet  stood  the  patronne 
gossiping  with  a  neighbour  and  laughing  heartily 
over  something.  Another  party  of  children  were 
hopping  over  lines  marked  with  chalk  on  the 
pavement  and  chanting  in  unison  a  song  of 
which  Bowdy  could  catch  a  few  lines : — 

**A  Tecole  dans  le  ville, 
A  Tecole  dans  le  ville, 

A  Tecole, 

A  Tecole, 
A  Tecole  dans  le  ville.** 

Bowdy's  platoon  came  to  a  halt  in  the  square, 
the  company  cook  who  came  there  long  in  ad- 
vance of  the  battalion,  was  pouring  fistfuls  of 


278  The  Brown  Brethren 

tea  in  a  dixie  which  stood  on  a  field  kitchen.  He 
was  red  of  face  as  a  lobster,  and  a  smile  of  satis- 
faction lit  up  his  genial  countenance  when  he 
saw  the  men. 

''You  look  pleased  with  yourself,"  Bowdy 
said. 

''So  will  you  be  pleased/'  said  the  man, 
"when  you  get  your  tea  after  a  little.  I've  made 
It  well,  extra  strong,  and  Spudhole  has  just  re- 
ceived a  parcel  from  home." 

"The  post  is  up?"  Bubb  asked. 

"There's  a  letter  for  you,  as  well  as  a  parcel," 
said  the  cook.  "And  we  are  going  back  for  a 
rest  to-morrow  night,  for  a  month  or  six  weeks." 

"Are  we  really  ?"  Bowdy  enquired. 

"Of  course  we  are,"  was  the  answer.  "And 
we're  going  to  get  paid,  too,  this  evening.  .  .  ." 

They  were  going  back  for  a  rest,  probably  to 
Cassel,  and  they  knew  such  a  delightful  billet 
there,  the  Y Farm 

Bowdy  breathed  in  the  fresh  air.  Away  be- 
hind the  firing  line  the  sun  was  sinking  and  a 
soft,  luminous  glow  settled  on  the  roofs  of  the 
houses  near. 

"We  should  have  a  bit  of  a  spree  to-night," 
said  the  cook,  raising  the  dixie  of  the  waggon, 
placing  it  on  the  ground,  and  stirring  it  with  a 


Back  from  Battle  279 

long  ladle.  "At  the  cafe  round  the  corner.  A 
champagne  supper,  a  song,  and  an  all-round  en- 
tertainment.   Are  you  game  for  it?" 

^'Blimey,  of  course  we're  game  for  it,"  said 
Spudhole.    'Wot  time  will  it  start?" 

"  'Arf  past  seven." 

"Righto,"  said  Bubb  and  Bowdy  in  one  voice. 
"We'll  be  there." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

RESTING 

The  night  breeze  sweeps  La  Bassee  Road,  the  night  idews 
wet  the  hay, 

The  boys  are  coming  back  again;  a  straggling  crowd  are 
they; 

The  column  lines  are  broken,  there  are  gaps  in  the  pla- 
toon, 

They'll  not  need  many  billets  now  for  soldiers  in  Bethune, 

For  lusty  lads,  good,  hearty  lads,  who  marched  away  so 
fine. 

Have  now  got  little  homes  of  clay,  beside  the  firing  line. 

Good  luck  to  them,  God-speed  to  them,  the  boys  who  march 
away, 

A-swinging  up  La  Bassee  Road  each  sunny,  Summer  day. 

(From  "Soldier  Songs") 

GORBLIMEY!     This  ain't  arf  a  blurry 
march/'  said  Bubb,  changing  his  rifle 
from   one   shoulder   to   the   other   and 
straightening  himself  up.    ^Tm  feelin'  my  feet, 
my  'eels  are  rubbin'  against  sandpaper." 

**We'll  soon  be  there  now,"  said  Bowdy 
Benners.  "Another  half  hour.  I  remember  the 
place  well.  We  haven't  been  here  for — how 
long?    Almost  a  year  and  a  half.     Then  there 

were   some   good  fellows   with   us.     Old   Fitz 

280 


Resting  281 

and  Snogger  and  Flanagan  and  Captain  Thor- 
ley  and  Billy  Hurd.  Gone  west,  the  poor 
devils." 

"I  wish  I  'ad  gone  west/'  said  Bubb,  whose 
head  was  sinking  forward.  ''This  ain't  worth 
living  for,  this  damned  march.  If  I  did  go  west 
I  wouldn't  mind;  there's  a  lot  of  good  men  wait- 
in'  to  welcome  us  there.  We'll  never  drink  beer 
with  better  blokes  again." 

''True  for  you,  Bubb,"  said  Bowdy.  ''Brave 
boys,  the  whole  lot  of  them.  Here,  Spudhole, 
ril  carry  your  rifle  for  you.  You  look  done 
up." 

Bubb  straightened  himself. 

"Thanks,  Bowdy,  but  I'd  rather  carry  me 
'ipe  myself.  Wot  would  these  draft  men  think 
if  they  see  me  gettin'  'elped  along?  I'm  not  a 
rooky,  Bowdy." 

"Righto,"  said  Bowdy,  with  a  laugh.  "Your 
independence  will  be  the  death  of  you  one 
day." 

A  halt  was  called  at  this  juncture  and  the  men 
threw  themselves  down  by  the  roadside.  The 
dusk  of  an  October  evening  was  settling  on  the 
poplar-lined  roadway.  The  spinneys  on  either 
side  were  wrapped  in  shadow  and  a  cold  wind 
swept  across  the  fields.    In  a  farm  somewhere 


282  The  Brown  Brethren 

near  a  dog  barked  and  a  cart  rumbled  along  a 
lane.  The  chiming  of  a  church  bell  could  be  heard 
calling  the  faithful  to  prayer. 

Bowdy  took  off  his  pack,  lit  a  cigarette,  and 
sat  on  a  milestone  which  bore  the  inscription: 
**A  Cassel  5  kilo."  The  milestone,  which  in- 
dicated the  wrong  direction,  had  been  reversed 
by  the  peasantry  when  war  broke  out  in  hopes  of 
turning  the  German  Army  in  a  wrong  direction. 
Bubb  lay  flat  on  his  back,  his  feet  cocked  up, 
his  tunic  open. 

''Wunner  if  Fifi  is  kickin'  about  now/'  he 
said.  "She  wasn't  'arf  a  bird.  Ole  Snogger 
was  fair  gone  on  'er,  so  was  pore  Fitz.  Bet  yer, 
she'll  be  lookin'  for  a  new  Tommy  this  time. 
Why  don't  ye  go  in  an'  say  things  to  'er,  Bowdy? 
Ye're  a  devil  for  fightin',  a  devil  for  drinkin', 
and  ye're  no  damned  good  at  all  when  a  wench 
is  about.  If  I  'adn't  me  own  bird  back  off  Wal- 
worth Road  wiv  'er  barrer,  I'd  lead  Fifi  a 
dance." 

'*Wot  about  the  girl  at  Gorre,"  said  Bowdy 
Benners.  '*You  forgot  all  about  Walworth 
Road  when  you  went  to  see  her  on  a  stretcher 
with  a  ground-sheet  for  a  uniform." 

Bubb  never  wanted  to  be  reminded  of  this  in- 


Resting  283 

cident,  but  at  the  present  time  he  was  too  tired  to 
pay  any  heed  to  Bowdy's  remarks. 

At  seven  o'clock  the  platoon  arrived  at  Y 

Farm  and  the  men  were  conducted  to  the  old 
barn  in  which  a  few  of  them  had  billeted  before. 
Bowdy  and  Bubb  sat  down  on  the  straw  and  took 
off  their  puttees,  lit  their  cigarettes  and  fumbled 
in  their  pockets  for  money.  Fifi,  of  course, 
would  give  them  soup  and  coffee  free;  but  they 
felt  it  becoming  to  them  to  offer  money,  even 
though  it  was  not  accepted. 

'*Come  along/'  said  Bowdy,  lighting  a  fresh 
cigarette.    **Fifi  will  be  waiting  for  us.'' 

They  went  down  the  crazy  stairs  and  across 
the  farmyard  towards  the  house.  Everything 
about  the  place  was  the  same  as  of  old,  the  mid- 
den, the  sloughy  pools,  the  up-ended  waggons, 
the  grunting  of  the  pigs  in  the  stye,  the  restless 
movement  of  cattle  in  the  byre  and  the  noisy 
growling  of  the  dog.  Bubb  recalled  the  night 
of  his  return  from  the  cafe  of  Jean  Lacroix. 

**The  same  blurry  dawg,"  he  said  to  Bowdy. 

"The  same." 

"Look!"  whispered  Bubb,  as  the  two  got  near 
the  door.     "There's  Fifi.     Gawd!     She   'asn't 

'arf  changed Stout She  must  be 

married." 


284  The  Brown  Brethren 

They  entered.  Fifi  rushed  forward  to  meet 
them,  and  clasping  Bubb  with  both  arms  she 
kissed  him  on  the  lips.  Then  she  kissed  Bowdy, 
who  blushed  as  red  as  a  beetroot. 

"Well,  Fm  damned,"  said  Bubb.  "Ye're  not 
'arf  a  giddy  one^  Fifi." 

She  must  have  been  working  hard  during  the 
day,  for  her  hair  was  all  untidy,  her  linen 
soiled  and  stained,  her  skirts  in  the  same  con- 
dition. 

''Back  from  the  trenches  ?"  she  asked. 

''Back  again,"  said  Bubb  who  could  follow 
the  remark,  though  spoken  in  French. 
"Trenches  no  bong,"  he  said.  "Ploosier  mon 
camerads  mort,  more  blissee.  Guerre  never 
fini." 

"The  sergen,  is  zee  dead?"  asked  Fifi,  speak- 
ing in  English.     "The  bon  sergen." 

"  'E's  dead,"  said  Bubb.  "Also  Flanagan ;  also 
Captain  Thorley " 

"Mon  pere  mort,"  said  the  girl,  and  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.    "Mort  a  Verdun." 

There  was  a  long  silence.  The  two  soldiers 
sat  down  near  the  stove.  Fifi  put  a  basin  of 
soup  over  the  fire.  Madame  Babette  came  in 
from  the  byre,  her  heavy  shoes  covered  with 
cow-dung,   and  placed  a  pail  of  milk  on   the 


Resting  285 

dresser.     She    shook    hands    with    Bubb    and 
Bowdy. 

''Back  from  the  trenches?''  sHe  enquired. 

"Back  for  a  month's  rest,"  Bowdy  re- 
plied. 

"I  s'pose  you're  married  now,  Fifi?"  Bubb 
remarked,  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  girl.  She  did 
indeed  look  like  a  married  woman;  the  old 
sprightly  manner  was  gone;  her  face  was  pale 
and  quiet  now,  and  a  tinge  of  sadness  had  crept 
into  her  voice.  The  old  Fifi,  the  full-throated 
coquette  of  eighteen  months  ago,  had  given  place 
to  a  prudent  housewife  whose  interests  did  not 
extend  beyond  the  marches  of  the  farm. 

'1  am  married,"  she  replied. 

"A  good  husband?"  asked  Bubb. 

"Tres  bon,"  said  Fifi.  ''He  will  be  in  from 
his  work  directly." 

"Ye've  forgotten  Fitzgerald,  the  Irishman,"   '. 
said  Bubb.     "  'E  was  a  good  man.     'E's  dead 
now ;  killed  by  an  oboo  grand." 

Fifi  chuckled.  Bubb  looked  at  Bowdy  and 
could  not  resist  giving  expression  to  the  thoughts 
which  came  into  his  mind. 

"It's  just  like  these  'ere  French  birds,"  he 
muttered.  "They'll  'ave  their  bit  of  fun  wiv 
a  bloke  an'  then  when  'e  goes  away  it's  'Good- 


286  The  Brown  Brethren 

bye  and  be  damned  t'yer,  and  we  don't  care  wot 
'appens  t'yer.' " 

Fifi,  who  seemed  to  have  made  great  progress 
in  her  knowledge  of  English,  laughly  loudly  at 
Bubb's  remarks.  Then  she  raised  a  warning 
finger.  Somebody  had  come  to  the  door  and 
this  somebody  was  rubbing  heavy  boots  on  the 
cobbles  in  an  endeavour  to  get  the  dirt  from  the 
soles. 

''My  husband,"  said  Fifi. 

He  came  in,  stood  for  a  moment,  and  gazed 
awkwardly  at  the  two  soldiers.  Bubb  stared 
open-mouthed  at  the  man,  Bowdy  contracted  his 
eyebrows  and  rubbed  one  eye  with  a  miry  finger, 
then  the  other. 

"Bon  soir,  m'soo,"  said  Bubb.  "Ye're  damned 
like  a  mate  as  we  'ad,  old  Fitz." 

"Fm  not  surprised  at  that,  Spudhole,"  said 
the  man,  coming  forward  and  gripping  both  the 
men's  hands  and  shaking  them  as  if  they  were 
pump  handles.  "Not  a  bit  surprised,  for  I  am 
ole  Fitz." 

"But  ye're  dead,"  said  Bubb. 

"Almost  had  been  ....  but  luck  was  witli 
me,"  said  Fitzgerald,  still  pump-handling. 
"And  you.  I  heard  you  two  were  killed, 
Bowdy  and   Bubb  ...  I  never   expected  .  .  . 


Resting  287 

It's  damned  strange  what  does  happen  .  .  . 
WeVe  no  end  of  things  to  talk  about  .  .  .  Fifi, 
get  a  meal  ready,  the  best  bottle  of  wine  .  .  . 
we  have  much  to  say  .  .  .  It's  all  gushing 
out  .  .  .  God !  it's  good  to  see  you  two  here." 

Fitzgerald  sat  down,  crossed  his  legs,  felt  in 
his  pockets  and  brought  out  a  packet  of  English 
cigarettes. 

''Have  a  fag,  Bubb — Bowdy,"  he  said,  laugh- 
ing boyishly.  'Twe  left  England,  but  I  can't 
resist  these  .  .  .  Oh!  damn  it!  .  .  .  Isn't  it 
good  to  see  you  two  here  ....  Old  Snog- 
ger  ...  I  know,  I  saw  it  in  the  press.  Thor- 
ley,  too,  and  Flanagan  .  .  .  We'll  go  into  the 
corner  and  have  a  talk  .  .  .  We  won't  be  dis- 
turbed and  rations  will  be  ready  in  no  time.  I'm 
excited,  Bowdy.  Bubb,  I'm  off  my  head.  I'm 
so  glad,  so  damned  glad  that  I  could  give  you 
a  punch  right  on  the  tip  of  your  nose  .  .  .  But 
you'll  not  understand  the  feelings  which  give 
rise  to  a  manifestation  of  gladness  such  as  that, 
Spudhole." 

Bubb  laughed. 

''Blimey !  Ye're  just  the  same  ole  Fitz,  same 
as  ever,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  MARRIED   MAN 

Come,  all  you  true-born  country  lads,  I'll  sing  a  song  to 

you, 
You'll  like  to  hear  it  one  and  all,  for  what  I  say  is  true; 
The  turf  is  wet  upon  the  bog,  the  snow  is  on  the  farm, 
You'd  better  take  a  wife  to  bed,  she's  sure  to  keep  you 

warm; 
She  will  not  want  for  golden  chains   from   any   pedlar's 

pack. 
When  she  will  have  your  two  strong  arms  clasped 'tight 

around  her  neck; 
Believe  me,  all  who  hear  these  words,  believe  me  young 

and  old, 
'Tis  snug  and  warm  to  have  a  wife  when  Winter  days 

are  cold. 

(From  an  old  "Come  all  ye") 

WHERE  can  I  begin  and  tell  every- 
thing?" said  Fitzgerald,  breaking  a 
piece  of  bread  and  bringing  it  up 
to  within  an  inch  of  his  mouth.  "I  suppose  that 
night  when  I  was  buried  in  the  dug-out  will  do  to 
start  with.  'Twas  the  devil's  own  night.  I  got 
lost  first  of  all,  and  me  going  up  with  a  message 
to  Captain  Thorley.  'Twas  very  important,  a 
mine  going  up  in  the  morning.     So  the  young 

German    prisoner   whom    we   had    taken    said. 

288 


The  Married  Man  289 

Therefore,  our  men  holding  the  front  line  had  to 
retire  for  safety  to  the  support  trenches.  So  up 
I  goes  from  Headquarters,  running  like  hell  (I'm 
getting  ungrammatically  excited,  Spudhole)  and 
gets  lost.  Took  the  wrong  turning,  flops  into  a 
trench  that  was  full  of  muck.  I  stuck  there  for 
goodness  knows  how  long,  holding  on  to  the 
piece  of  paper  on  which  the  message  was 
scrawled.  I  thought  I  was  a  permanent  fixture, 
stuck  in  that  trench  for  duration.  But  somehow  I 
did  get  free  and  eventually  found  myself  in  our 
front  line.  How  I  got  there  I  don't  know.  I  mind 
seeing  you,  Spudhole." 

"There  was  some  dirt  coming  along  our  way 
at  that  time,'\said  Bubb. 

''  'Twas  that  shell  that  did  it,"  said  Fitzgerald, 
gazing  absently  at  his  piece  of  bread,  which  he 
still  held  between  finger  and  thumb.  "Some- 
one said  Whoo!  There  she  comes!'  and  there 
was  a  rush  for  the  dug-out.  I  got  mixed  up  in 
the  scramble  and  was  carried  in  with  the  rest. 
But  I  still  clung  on  to  my  message.  Then  the 
shell  came  down  on  the  dug-out  and  I  was  out  of 
the  doings,  just  like  a  gutted  sprat. 

"As  far  as  I  can  judge  I  was  underground  that 
night,  the  next  day,  the  night  after,  and  got  pulled 
out  the  day  following  at  twelve  o'clock.     Some 


290  The  Brown  Brethren 

men  of  the  regiment  that  relieved  us  saw  a  bayo- 
net that  stuck  up  through  the  roof  of  the  fallen 
dug-out  move  as  if  someone  was  shaking  it." 

''I  saw  that  'ere  bay 'net,"  said  Bubb.  "Stick- 
in'  up  over  the  roof." 

''Well,  these  fellows,  when  they  saw  the  bayo- 
net wobbling,  guessed  that  someone  was  alive 
under  the  ground,  and  they  began  to  dig  like  hell," 
said  Fitzgerald. 

''Eventually  they  reached  me,  still  alive,  with 
a  wound  on  the  back  of  my  head,  and  they  pulled 
me  out.  The  air  had  got  in  somehow,  I  suppose. 
....  Well,  I  came  to  my  senses  in  hospital  in 
Versailles,  and  I  got  up,  so  I  was  told,  and  rushed 
along  the  ward  like  hell,  with  a  nurse  or  two 
clinging  to  my  shirt  tail.  'Where  are  you  run- 
ning?' they  asked  me.  'I'm  going  on  a  message 
to  Captain  Thorley,'  I  told  them.  'There's  a 
mine  going  up  at  dawn.'  'Oh,  that's  all  right,' 
said  the  nurses.  'Captain  Thorley  has  got  the 
message  and  everything's  air  right.'  And  they 
wheedled  me  and  coaxed  me  until  I  went  back  to 
bed. 

"So  I  was  told;  but  I  didn't  remember  any- 
thing about  it.  Even  now  my  mind  gets  mazed 
at  times  when  I'm  excited,  and  queer  ideas  come 
into  my  head." 


The  Married  Man  291 

"You  haven't  eaten  one  bite  yet,"  said  Bowdy 
Benners.  "That  bit  of  bread  hasn't  gone  into 
your  mouth,  and  weVe  been  sitting  here  for  the 
last  ten  minutes." 

"Well,  Fm  not  hungry,"  said  Fitzgerald.  "I'm 
feeding  on  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  two  here. 
Fifi,  the  wine!"  he  called  to  his  wife. 

The  woman  brought  a  large  bottle,  placed  it  on 
the  table,  and  patted  her  husband  on  the  head 
with  an  affectionate  hand. 

"She's  a  divine  creature,"  said  Fitzgerald, 
when  Fifi  went.  "How  did  it  happen  that  the 
gods  were  so  good  to  me?  I  don't  know  .  .  .  , 
But  to  get  on  with  my  story,"  he  continued. 
"After  a  while  I  found  myself  in  England.  I 
don't  even  remember  crossing  the  Channel.  I 
was  in  a  muddle  all  the  while.  Sometimes  I  would 
think  I  was  in  the  trenches  and  I  would  wake  up 
from  my  sleep,  jump  out  on  the  floor  and  stand 
against  the  wall,  thinking  that  I  was  on  the  fire- 
step  on  guard.    I  must  have  been  a  troublesome 

patient And  then  one  night  when  I  was  in 

a  big  bed  in  a  big  house  in  England  I  thought 
that  somebody  put  a  cold  hand  over  my  forehead. 
I  shouted  out  'Who's  there  ?'  I  opened  my  eyes, 
looked  up  and  saw  a  man  with  a  black  beard 
standing  at  my  bed. 


292  The  Brown  Brethren 

"  'Who  are  you  ?'  I  asked. 

"  'Your  Sergeant-major/  said  tiie  man.  'I 
want  you  to  present  arms/  he  said.  *At  the 
word  *'one'*  you  give  the  rifle  a  sharp  cant  up 
to  the  right  side,  gripping  it  at  the  small  of  the 
butt  with  the  right  hand  and  at  the  outer  band 

with   the  left '     I   stared  at  the   fellow 

and  this  seemed  to  annoy  him.  *Dumb  con- 
tempt!* he  yelled.  'You'll  be  for  it!*  and 
he  raised  his  fist  and  made  one  smash  at  my  face. 
I  dodged  the  blow  and  then  a  man  in  a  warder's 
uniform  rushed  in  and  pulled  the  sergeant-major 
away. 

"Good  God,   Bowdy,  where  was  I?     Guess. 

I  was  in  a  lunatic  asylum Twas  enough 

to  turn  my  brain.  And  it's  a  difllcult  job  to 
prove  that  you're  sane  when  you're  in  a  mad- 
house. They  won't  believe  you,  for  some 
damned  reason  or  another.  I  used  to  go  up  to 
the  warder  and  say:  'Look  here,  matey,  I'm  as 
right  as  rain,'  and  he  would  nod  his  head  and 
say:  'Oh,  yes,  of  course  you  are.'  But  'twas 
easy  enough  to  see  that  he  didn't  believe  you. 

God!  I  often  felt  like  strangling  the  man 

It  wouldn't  do  me  any  good,  I  knew,  to  kick 
up  a  ruction;  so  I  kept  very  quiet  and  well-be- 
haved. 


The  Married  Man  293 

"At  the  end  of  six  weeks  I  was  discharged 
and  sent  to  a  convalescent  camp;  not  as  good  as 
the  one  that  Flanagan  had  been  in  when  he  got 
wounded.  Impossible  to  swing  the  lead  there.  I 
got  sick  of  it  in  no  time,  so  I  applied  for  a  trans- 
fer to  the  B.E.F.,  Somewhere  in  France. 

*'  'Do  you  really  want  to  go  out  there  again?' 
my  mates  asked  me. 

*'  'Of  course  I  do,'  I  told  them. 

"  'Then  you  must  be  mad/  they  said. 

"But  I  had  no  luck  with  my  application.  'Out 
to  the  trenches  again/  said  the  M.O.  Tut,  tut, 
man!  Til  bring  you  before  a  Board  and  see 
what  it  says.* 

**The  Board  said  *  Discharge'  and  I  was  dis- 
charged with  a  pension.  So  there  I  was  out  on 
my  own,  a  wash-out.  Patrick  Fitzgerald,  pen- 
sioner, non  bon,  one  that  had  done  his  bit,  who 
had  been  through  the  thick  of  it,  in  the  doings, 
a  brave  boy,  lion-hearted,  and  so  on.  My  friends 
took  me  into  their  arms  and  made  no  end  of  a 
fuss  of  me.  England  had  reason  to  be  proud  of 
her  sons,  they  said,  and  took  me  about  to  swell 
dinners/' 

"Just  like  ole  Flan  when  'e  was  at  'ome,"  said 
Bubb. 

"I    hobnobbed    with    big   bugs,"    Fitzgerald 


294  The  Brown  Brethren 

continued,  ''grand  old  men  who  were  in  the 
know  and  who  knew  everything,  having  inside 
information;  well-dressed  women  who  preached 
economy  to  the  masses,  who  denied  themselves 
luxuries  which  they  were  healthier  without,  who 
rode  on  common  buses  and  advertised  the  fact, 
and  who  travelled  by  tube  as  an  example  to 
those  who  always  travel  by  tube.  Nobody  paid 
much  heed  to  them  as  far  as  I  could  see.  The 
people  with  whom  I  stopped  denied  themselves 
the  services  of  a  butler  and  took  in  his  place  an 
extra  female  servant.  They  were  very  rich,  and 
self-denial  was  their  greatest  craze.  In  further- 
ing their  country's  cause  they  displayed  as  much 
ingenuity  as  a  cautious  billiard  player  who  just 
misses  the  balls.  I  grew  tired  of  it  all,  wearied 
to  death,"  said  Fitzgerald,  placing  his  bread  on 
the  table  and  pulling  the  wine  bottle  towards  him. 
He  pulled  out  the  cork,  filled  his  mates'  glasses, 
but  took  no  notice  of  his  own. 

"It  doesn't  do  for  me  to  take  any  now,"  he 
said,  in  an  apologetic  voice.  "It  goes  to  here.*' 
He  tapped  his  head  with  his  fingers. 

"There  was  once,"  said  Bubb  .... 

"Yes,  but  that's  a  thing  of  the  past,"  said 
Fitzgerald.  "I  did  go  into  a  pub  when  I  was 
in  London.     I  wanted  to  have  a  yarn  with  the 


The  Married  Man  295 

Old  Sweats  who  frequented  the  taproom.  I 
made  them  merry  and  they  carried  me  home. 
'Twasn't  honey  after  that.  Old  Fitz,  the  boy 
who  had  been  through  the  thick  of  it  and  who 
had  done  his  bit,  was  rather  a  burden  to  his 
friends.  He  had  wild  ways;  his  manners  were 
unbecoming,  he  had  said  dreadful  things  when 
under  the  influence  of  alcohol.  My  friends  took 
me  aside,  lectured  me  and  suggested  that  if  I 
was  placed  in  a  little  cottage  somewhere  out  of 
sight,  given  a  few  pounds  in  addition  to  my  pen- 
sion, I  would  be  much  happier 

"I  left  them;  the  brave  boy  who  had  done  his 
bit  and  who  went  through  the  thick  of  it  va- 
moosed.    I  didn't  even  wait  for  the  additional 

few  pounds Then  an  uncle  of  mine  died 

and  left  me  six  hundred  pounds.    I  collared  this, 

wrote  to  Fifi,  whom  I  had  not  forgotten 

She    remembered    me Her    father    was 

killed  at  Verdun.  What  could  I  do  but  come 
over  and  see  her?  'Twas  an  easy  matter  then. 
I  had  some  money,  I  loved  her;  so  we  got  mar- 
ried. She's  a  grand  woman,  Bowdy.  I  didn't 
understand  her  when  we  were  billeted  here;  I 

don't  even  understand  her  yet Oh,  how 

she  misses  her  father,  but  she  bears  it  as  a 
Frenchwoman  can.     I  tried  to  console  her  at 


296  The  Brown  Brethren 

first,  but  I  say  nothing  about  her  loss  now.  First 
she  used  to  say,  when  we  spoke  about  her  father's 
death:  'C'est  la  guerre/  but  now  it's  different. 
It's  now :  'He  died  for  France  and  it's  an  honour 
to  die  for  one's  country.'  " 

Bubb  filled  his  glass,  Bowdy  did  the  same.  The 
two  soldiers  looked  at  one  another,  then  at  Fitz- 
gerald.    Fifi  came  up  to  the  table. 

Bowdy  raised  his  glass  in  the  air,  Bubb  fol- 
lowed suit. 

^'Here's  to  Fitzgerald,"  said  Bowdy. 

''And  to  Fifi,"  said  Spudhole. 

"Long  life  and  happiness " 


"And  no  end  of  'appy  children " 

"Victory  for  the  Allies!" 
"And  'ell  for  the  Boche !"  said  Spudhole,  bring- 
ing the  glass  of  wine  to  his  lips. 


TH^  KND 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

BERKELEY 

THIS  BOOK  IS  DUE  ON  THE  LAST  DATE 

STAMPED  BELOW 

Books  not  returned  on  time  are  subject  to  a  fine  of 
50c  per  volume  after  the  third  day  overdue,  increasing 
to  $1.00  per  volume  after  the  sixth  day.     Books  not  in 
demand  may  be  renewed  if  application  is  made  before 
expiration  of  loan  period. 

OCT  13  \m 

^^Y  23  132, 

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t?  CO   928 

1 

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50m-7,'16 

IB  33323 


389669 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CAUPWRNIA  UBRARY 


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